Ways to Drive Commodore James Norrington Insane
by Luthien Saralonde
Summary: Catherine Tuttle, socialite and mischief maker, devises a list to wreak havoc in the life of our dear Commodore James Norrington. Humor, light romance later on. Read and review!
1. Chapter 1

I own nothing! It all belongs to the Mouse...although I would definitely love Norrington beneath my Christmas Tree this year...*nudge nudge* Oh fine...

* * *

Ways to Drive Commodore James Norrington Insane

* * *

1.) Paint out _The Dauntless_ and fill it in with _The Black Pearl._

2.) Put pink ribbons in his wig.

3.) Switch his uniform with that of a Marine's.

4.) Give his uniform to either Murtogg or Mullroy.

5.) Call him Commodore Norrykins, and other names of that nature.

6.) When he acts all high and mighty, go up to him and ask, "Does it hurt?" When he asks what on earth you are talking about, say, "The stick up your bum."

7.) Every time he walks by, wrinkle your nose and mutter, "Ew, what's that smell?"

8.) Disable the rudder chain. Enough said.

9.) Scream out, "Look! There's a boy in the water!"

10.) Act like Jack.

11.) Paint his nails and do his make up when he falls asleep at his desk while filling out reports.

12.) Switch everything around on(and in) his desk.

13.) Write CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW WUZ HEER on every available surface.

14.) Hand him a letter stating that Gillette has run away with Groves, and they wish him to be both Maid of Honour and Best Man at the wedding.

15.) Tell him they plan on naming their first child after him.

16.) Continuously make comments about said child, and his two subordinate officers.

17.) Remark on the different shades of red his face is turning, and say you never knew it was possible for a human to successfully do that without their head exploding.

18.) Scatter bottles of rum all over his office.

19.) Ask if his wig has become attached to his head, or if he was born that way.

20.) Wonder why he has to wear high heels when he's already tall, then remark that it does make him look pretty.

21.) Switch his tea with rum when he's not looking, and then watch his expression when he realises what it really is he's knocking back.

22.) Put ink in his coffee.

23.) Take a bit of cloth, and rip it a bit every time he walks, then giggle when he stops.

24.) Ask him if his stockings are too tight, and is that why he always looks like he's in pain.

25.) Switch all his clothes with gowns, and tell him his coats have more fabric in them than what you've replaced them with, so it really shouldn't be much of a difference.


	2. Chapter 2

Catherine Tuttle was just putting the finishing touches on the newly christened _Black Pearl_, formerly known as _The Dauntless_, when Lieutenant Gillette stuck his head over the rail.

"Miss Tuttle, just what on earth are you doing? And how did you manage that contraption all the way over here?" he spluttered, looking down to where the short, raven haired woman was sitting on a wide slat of wood supported by thick ropes tied to the sturdy rail on the poop deck.

"I carried it, Lieutenant. How do you think I got it over here?" she grinned, flashing white, even teeth at him while screwing on the lid to a large paint jar.

"What have you do-oh Lord…" Gillette's mouth had dropped open at the sight of the new name freshly painted on, still glistening wetly in the hot Caribbean sun. "Tell me, Miss Tuttle. Do you have a death wish? Or are you just plain _thick_?" he said, his temper barely controlled.

"Neither, my dear Lieutenant! Just want to see how far I can push our dear Commodore before he explodes…quite literally," Catherine shrugged, tucking everything away into a large white canvas bag.

Gillette stuck out a hand and helped her up, nearly toppling over the edge himself while trying to reach her, and grumbled, "Couldn't you grow a few more inches…or feet?"

She just rolled her eyes, and staggered onto the deck, rubbing her aching neck. "I am who I am, Lieutenant. And just so you know," she said, fixing him with a stern glare, "I am perfectly fine with my height."

"Yes, you in all of your negative three foot five inch glory."

"I am precisely four feet and eleven inches when not in shoes, thank you very much," she sniffed, untying the ropes and nearly dropping the impromptu swing-like platform.

"Still as clumsy as ever, I see," Gillette smirked.

"Yes, and I'm proud of that, too. It takes talent, being as uncoordinated and insane as I am," she retaliated, hauling it up and stuffing it into her bag.

"Whatever you say, Miss Tuttle. I just certainly hope I am not the one closest to Commodore Norrington when he sees what you've done to his ship."

* * *

Norrington and several other Naval officers were just nearing the ship when he noticed something odd about it.

"Groves, tell me you do not see what I think I am seeing," he said in a flat voice, staring at the huge white streak with _The Black Pearl_ painted across it in bold, sable letters.

"Alright then. I shall not tell you that I see someone has painted over _The Dauntless _with _The Black Pearl _instead," Groves said, going white.

The people in the long boat could hear Norrington grinding his teeth, a muscle jumping quite satisfactorily in his jaw.

"Ah! It appears we have ourselves a guest, sir!" Groves said, in an attempt to lighten his rapidly darkening mood.

Norrington continued to stare at the bold as brass lettering across the back of his ship.

"Miss Catherine Tuttle, I believe?" he continued, squinting up at the deck.

"Blast that woman! She did it!" the Commodore all but roared, causing her to look down at the long boat and giggle at his expression.

"Oh, this is going to be so much fun," she sighed, before hurrying over to the rigging and clambering up it.

"Erm…Miss Tuttle? Given your propensity for slipping, falling, walking into things, and otherwise being absolutely clumsy, I do suggest you get down from there," Gillette called up.

"Oh don't be silly, Lieutenant! Just as long as my concentration doesn't slip, I'll be fi-oh look! A seagull!"

"Miss Tuttle!"

"Joking, joking…honestly. You would think that after all I've done, the Navy would want to see me hanged like a common pirate, not worrying over my safety as I ascend into unknown heights and dangers whilst escaping from the incredibly furious Commodore. Besides, I was climbing trees since I was two, and only fell out of it once…well, actually, that was when the branch my cousin and I were on broke, and pinned us beneath it…but that is an entirely different story! See, I was born to climb!" she called down, settling herself comfortably in the crow's nest.

"You should really get down from there, Miss! He's not happy!"

"All the more reason for me to stay up here then…oh bugger, he's coming up." She made a face at Gillette, who was wearing his see-I-told-you-so expression.

"Ah, welcome to my humble abode, Commodore!" she chirped when he stalked, yes, stalked, into the crow's nest. "Now now, let us not be hasty," she said, backing away from him as he stretched his arms out to wrap his fingers around her throat. "I'm sure we can talk everything out."

"Talk everything out?!" he said in a strangled voice. "You defiled, no, _vandalised_ my ship, and you think we can talk things _out?!"_

"Of course! How do you think peace treaties get negotiated? They don't bombard the other with cannons and other weapons of mass destruction while saying, 'Oh, and this plot of land right here to the south of River Something or Other is particularly lovely in the spring. I highly suggest you grab up that bit too,' do they? I didn't think so."

"You have an undeniably quick, silvered tongue, madam. I highly suggest you keep it in your mouth where it belongs, lest it becomes tarnished, hm?" he growled, gesturing grandly toward the rigging. "Ladies first."

"Oh no, Commodore. I'd rather you went first."

"Oh? And why is that?" he said, raising a brow.

"So you won't push me off, that's why. Besides, I'd feel safer knowing you would be there to ah…catch me, should I slip, or something else along those lines."

"Quite frankly madam, I don't feel safe descending before you, either."

"Ah, but you're the gentleman, and gentlemen always honour a lady's wishes, no matter how ridiculous they may sound," she grinned. 'Ha! Got you there, Commodore Stick up you Bum!' she thought.

Norrington looked reluctant, but finally said, "Oh, fine…" and went over the side.

Catherine chuckled to herself before following shortly after.

* * *

While it may have been fun painting over the name of the ship, it was by no means fun scraping it all off. Catherine fumed and mumbled curses at Norrington the entire time, absolutely baking in the sun.

"Are you done yet? I should like to get out of this cursed heat for a bit, you know," Norrington drawled, coming to lean over the rail.

"No, I am bloody well not done, and you know it!" she growled, levelling a fierce glare at him.

He chuckled and said, "Oh, you have me quaking in my shoes, Miss Tuttle," before walking away.

After ten more minutes of scraping, the last of the stubborn paint came off, revealing _The Dauntless_, though it looked a little worse for wear.

"Yes, free at last!" she crowed, sliding backward off her little platform into the cooler, clear blue waters below. Norrington came back over upon hearing the splash and called out, "You know you're going to have to repaint it, don't you?"

"Oh stuff it, Commodore. Let me cool off first before you go and spoil all my fun again, eh?" she shouted back, sticking out her tongue childishly, her olive skin(courtesy of her Italian heritage) contrasting nicely with the aquamarine of the waters around.

"Better swim to shore, there. Don't want any sharks nibbling on those dainty little toes of yours, hm?" he grinned, turning away again.

"Go boil your head," she muttered, swimming leisurely away. "And you know there's absolutely nothing dainty about my feet at all!" she shouted back.

"Ah, the beauty of exaggeration…" he said, smirking.

* * *

By the time she got to the Governor's mansion, her gown had somewhat dried, but the layers underneath were a different story.

"Well, Elizabeth," she sighed, flopping down into a chair in the sitting room, making an odd squelching noise. "I had to scrape it all off, and I need to repair the lettering tomorrow, but other than that, it was much fun evading his strangle hold up in the crow's nest yesterday."

"He tried to strangle you?" she asked dubiously.

"Of course he did! I wouldn't say it if it weren't true, would I?" Catherine said, pretending to look affronted. "And I think I've ruined the chair…"

"Oh, nonsense. Father's been looking for an excuse to get rid of it," Elizabeth said, waving her hand in a dismissing gesture.

"Well, he shouldn't yet, since I still have plenty planned for the good Commodore. And, I have a feeling I'll be pulling the same stunt tomorrow when I finish."

"Alright then," the taller woman grinned. "I shan't let him even lay a finger on it!"

"Oh, go drink some rum," Catherine grumbled.

"Rum is a…"

"Yes, Elizabeth, we all know that it is a vile drink that turns even the most honourable man into a complete scoundrel. But then again, so does every other alcoholic beverage, so unless you want to swear off wine and champagne at dinners and other parties…"

Elizabeth sniffed, then smiled at her friend. "Has anyone ever told you that…"

"What? I have a quick, silvered tongue? Actually, our dear Norrykins told me that yesterday."

Elizabeth raised a dark brow. "Norrykins?"

"Mhm. I plan on calling him that for an entire day. It's fifth on my list, actually."

"You have a list." It was a statement, rather than a question, since Elizabeth was far too used to the antics of her friend to question anything.

"Mhm. And next, I plan on tying pink ribbons into his hair."

"Good luck with that…" she mumbled.

* * *

"Ah, Miss Tuttle. You're erm…wet…" the butler said, opening the door for her to enter the moderate sized white house.

I had a run in with the back of Norrington's ship, let's just say that."

"Did it involve you jumping off your little platform contraption after you finished scraping off what you had so generously painted yesterday?" he said, raising a brow.

"Of course! And tomorrow, I need to repaint the bloody name…so would you please inform Nancy that I shall not be partaking in dinner tonight? I'd rather I just went to bed, Thomas."

"Of course, ma'am."

Catherine sighed, then went up the steps, her shoes still oozing water as she went along.

"Oh, ma'am!" Grace, her maid, said, as she exited one of the guestrooms, a dust rag in hand. "What happened?"

"No need to look alarmed, I just took a swim after scraping off my wonderful artwork from Commodore Norrington's ship."

"Oh! Ma'am, you gave me a fright when I saw you. I thought you might have fallen…even off the battlements of the fort!"

Catherine raised a brow. "Oh?"

"Well…" Grace trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "You are a wee bit clumsy, ma'am, if you don't mind me saying so."

Catherine threw back her head and laughed. "Ach, lassie, that I am," she said in a Scottish brogue, grinning. "Oh, and I'm also going to need your help getting these sodden layers off. The gown itself has mostly dried in the sun and whatnot, but as you can see, the hem of my petticoats are still dripping."

"Of course, ma'am."

* * *

She breathed a sigh of relief as the sodden corset finally went, then accepted the dry chemise from Grace and pulled it on over her head after discarding the shift.

"Shall you be wearing another gown? I apologise, I should have asked before getting your chemise. Or…do you want to retire now?"

"Actually…I think I should like to go to the library for a few hours, but a gown won't be necessary. Why don't we just toss a nightgown on over my chemise, and everything will be settled?"

Grace nodded, and got the article of clothing, handing it to her around the screen.

"Thank you, Grace. That is all I require for now," she said, stepping out from behind the screen.

Grace nodded and left the room, but turned back around when she heard a thump and a muffled curse. "Ma'am? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine, Grace. I just smacked my toe against the wash stand. No need to worry! I didn't break it…I think…"

Grace shook her head and retreated down the stairs and to the kitchen, where Nancy, the red haired, Irish cook, was scrubbing clean pots and pans in the large basin.

* * *

The first thing she noticed when she entered the library was the smell of books, leather, ink, and a low wood fire burning in the small grate, for some odd reason. Inhaling deeply, Catherine allowed herself to be swept away by the familiarity of it all. When she opened her eyes again, she meandered slowly over to two portraits hanging on the wall. The one on the left depicted a small, black haired woman, wearing a smile as demure and mysterious as the Mona Lisa, with dancing black eyes, a slight Roman nose, and high cheek bones, displaying her rich Italian ancestry.

The other portrait showed a man as serious as his wife was mischievous, wearing a powdered wig, and elegantly cut clothing, all in dark colours. He had almond shaped, dove grey eyes, the same ones Catherine had inherited, and a proud tilt to his head. He looked almost as if he were challenging anyone within sight to a battle of the wits, in which he would most assuredly come out the victor.

Catherine chuckled a bit as she studied the paintings, and said, "Mama, Papa, let's just say that…you would have your hands full if you were here at the moment."

Thomas knocked on the door just then, startling her out of her thoughts. "Come in," she called over her shoulder, moving to a bookcase to study the titles before her.

"A letter for you, ma'am, from your parents. It just arrived not five minutes ago."

"Ah! Thank you, Thomas! You're amazing!" she cried, eagerly receiving the envelope.

He snorted, and exited the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

Catherine was in the middle of reading the part where her mother had elbowed her father aside in order to write her own side of the story they were regaling her with when Norrington was shown in.

"Oh!" she gasped, standing up swiftly and clutching her nightgown shut with one hand.

Norrington flushed slightly and kept his gaze fixed on the dark wooden panelling behind her. "I apologise for intruding…I ah…had no idea you weren't decent…ahem…." he stuttered, looking nervous.

"It's alright…ah, would you care to sit down? I'll have a tea tray brought in if you would like."

"Thank you," he said, settling into an overstuffed wingback armchair. "I came to see if you were up to the task of repainting _The Dauntless_ tomorrow. If your shoulders and arms ache too much, we can arrange for you to do it another day."

"You are just determined to have me fix every little stunt I pull, aren't you?" she grinned. "That little swim worked wonders for me, I must admit. I shall be ready and at the docks by nine thirty tomorrow morning. I doubt I have the exact colours though, so I do hope you shall at least be supplying the paint?"

"Naturally. I wouldn't want my ship to end up with a purple and pink name."

"Oh please! I absolutely abhor the colour pink. It would have been purple and orange!"

"Do your parents know of your escapades?" he asked, eying the letter in her hand.

"Of course not. Are you mad? Though, I'm sure they know I've been up to something while they've been gone. Honestly. How long do they expect me to sit still and read? My eyes can't manage that all day, no matter how much I wish they could."

"You must have been something as a child…" he mumbled.

Catherine just grinned at him. "Apparently, my cousin has decided to woo a lady, with disastrous results on both their parts."

"Oh? And what does it involve?"

"Them falling into a fountain, among other things. I so wish I was there…but then I would never have been able to push your buttons as mush as I have!"

* * *

Catherine pushed an annoying tendril of frizzy black hair out of her red face and dipped her brush back into the paint pot.

"How is it coming?" Norrington smirked, looking down at her over the rail.

"I swear, I am about the throw the lot of this into your face right now," she growled, scratching her nose and managing to smudge blue paint down the front. "Oh, blast…"

"Almost done?"

"Three more letters to go. Now, shoo. I need to concentrate before I completely ruin everything."

Norrington smirked once again, and retreated to the opposite end of the ship.

"You know, she's going to retaliate with something else to get back at you for making her repaint the thing, right?" Gillette said. Groves nodded in agreement.

"Then, I shall deal out the proper punishment when she does," Norrington said, leaning against the bulwark.

The two lieutenants shook their heads at this.

"This little war they have going is never going to end," Groves sighed.

"Not at all," Gillette agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N./ **I have thorougly researched prices, rum, the fashions, and even the layout of eighteenth century mansions/water closets. Everything here is as historically correct as I could make it.

I couldn't find an exact price on rum, so I based it off gin. Since one penny was enough to get drunk on gin, and it was a completely inferior and disgusting drink, I am very sure that rum would be more expensive. A tuppence, or two pennies, would be enough to get dead drunk on gin, so I figured that a tuppence would be enough to buy a decent glass of rum. Also, I researched how it was made, and its different flavours, depending on how long it was aged.

Also, a nightgown is not the same as what we are familiar with now. It is a cross between a gown, and a bathrobe, according to SirenoftheStorm's The Official Fanfiction University of the Caribbean. A morning gown is an article you wuold throw on over your chemise when you wake up. A shift is the undergarmentthat goes to around mid thigh, and would be under the gown. A chemise is what women would wear to bed.

Enjoy!

-MP(MidgetPhantom)!

* * *

Once again, Catherine Tuttle came home sopping wet and tired. Thomas didn't comment on her appearance this time, other than sniff a bit and shake his head, and allowed her to meander off into the depths of the house.

"Thomas?" she called suddenly, coming to an abrupt halt.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked, appearing at her elbow. "Did you need something?"

"When are my parents coming back from England again? Did they ever say?"

"I do recall your father telling us they would be back before the holidays, but that is all I can recall ma'am."

"Thank you Thomas. That is all I needed."

The butler nodded smartly and exited through a door leading off into the parlour, where there was a game of cards going with the gardener.

"Nancy?" she called, entering the overly warm kitchen.

"Aye, lass? What is it ye be needin'?" she called from somewhere in the back of the room.

"Could I possibly have a cup of tea? And maybe a crumpet or something else to nibble on? Anything will do, really."

"I have some toast. Ye want that?" the red haired woman asked, coming into view.

"Yes, thank you. You're a godsend, Nancy. You really are."

The cook just waved it away good naturedly and said, "I'll be sendin' young Gracie up with it then, aye?"

"Yes. Thank you again," Catherine said, walking slowly out the room again. "Oh," she called over her shoulder. "I shall be in the sitting room. Please tell her that when she comes to bring me my tray."

* * *

After she finished her tea and toast, Catherine decided it was time to get to work. She hurried up the stairs to her room and rifled through her clothes press until she found an old pair of worn, black britches, a matching shirt and waist coat, and sable coloured stockings that had belonged to her brother, Richard, back when he was a boy. Richard, who was the image of their father except for the eyes and nose, was back in London for the season with her parents. She had opted to stay and manage the household in their absence.

Slipping them on, Catherine looked at her reflection in the mirror and smirked.

'I love these clothes,' she thought to herself. 'I can move!'

The clock chimed eight, snapping her back into business. She rummaged around her room, and managed to come up with the vilest pink coloured ribbons she could find, stuffing them into the pocket of her waist coat as she went along. Next, she braided her hair, coiling it into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Deciding that she was still missing a crucial part of her outfit, she went into her parents' room, and dug out an old black tricorn, settling it onto her head at a jaunty angle.

She raced back along the corridor into her room and skidded to a halt, finding a small coin purse and dropping it into her other pocket, before grabbing her brother's lock pick and jamming it into the pocket that contained the money. Slipping on a pair of shoes her brother had cast aside years and years ago, she traipsed back along the corridor, went down the stairs, and out the door.

The walk to town wasn't long at all, and soon she found herself in a tavern called The Bonny Lass, ordering a glass of rum.

"How much?" she asked, taking out her coin purse.

"Eh?" the bartender said. Obviously, he was hard of hearing.

"I said, how much?" she shouted.

"Alrigh', alrigh' no need to shout, man," he grumbled. "That'll be a tuppence, sir."

Rolling her eyes, she handed him the two pennies, took her rum, and settled down in a corner, content to sip the mellow bodied drink and wait until she was sure Norrington was in bed, or at least preparing for it.

Once she had emptied her glass twice over and felt that her nerves were bolstered enough, she left the tavern, and dragged her feet to kill more time until she reached where Norrington lived.

The house was large, but comfortable looking, with wide, sweeping lawns and a good sized stable towards the rear. It had been painted stark white, with black shutters and a dark, oaken door. Glancing up, she saw a light flicker on in one of the windows, and then Norrington's profile through the glass.

"Perfect," she muttered.

* * *

Catherine was never sure afterwards how she got inside, but that didn't really matter at the moment. What did was finding her way into his room, now that she was actually in his house.

"Bugger," she mumbled, as footsteps sounded in the corridor. Catherine looked around desperately for a place to hide, and darted into the grandfather clock just in time, for a maid walked around the corridor seconds after. Holding as still as possible, she thanked anyone who was possibly listening for being short. The maid glanced around to make sure everything was in its proper place, then continued on until she was out of sight.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Catherine slipped back out, and went toward the stairs, slipping off her shoes as she went. Getting up them was no problem, and neither was sneaking into Norrington's room. His door had been left wide open, allowing her a brief time to dive in and slide under the bed while he was in the water closet. Not too long afterward, Norrington entered, and began readying himself for bed. Catherine mentally groaned as first his waist coat came off, then the cravat and shirt.

"Oh no," she whispered, when the britches followed shortly after, along with the shoes and stockings. On went the night shirt, and off went the candle. After a while(it could have been several minutes, or half an hour to Catherine), his breathing deepened, and he began to snore.

Dragging herself out as quietly as she could from underneath the bed, Catherine made her way over to the wig stands, her eyes thankfully somewhat adjusted to the darkness, and drew out the pink ribbons from her pocket. Naturally, the first thing she did was knock over a candlestick, but thankfully she caught it before it could clatter to the floor and wake up the object of this latest stunt.

Grabbing the end of the black ribbon on the first wig, she gave a sharp tug, grinning as the bow came loose in her hand. After tying on a frilly pale pink concoction of lace and satin, she moved onto the next one, and the next, repeating the process until each wig had at least one bow on it. Grinning to herself, she whispered, "Good night, Commodore. Have fun in the morning!" and darted out the door.

* * *

Norrington settled his wig on his head and was just about to walk out of his bedroom when a flash of pink caught his eye in the mirror.

"What in the…" he mumbled, going back to look into the glass. Everything appeared normal, until he turned his head to the side. "How…?" Perplexed, he removed the wig and hunted around for the black ribbon that had previously secured it, but could find none. A growing suspicion was forming in his mind as to who had done this, but he couldn't be exactly sure until he had a look at all the other wigs. It was confirmed when he saw that each and every one of them had a pink bow, some even sporting two or three.

"Jacob!" he bellowed.

The butler came hurrying into the room. "Yes, James lad?" the older man asked, looking slightly confused.

"When you locked up last night, did you notice anything, or anyone around the premises?" Norrington asked tersely, rummaging through a drawer.

"Not at all, boy. Why do you ask?"

"Because _someone_, by the name of Miss Catherine Tuttle, slipped in and changed all the ribbons on my wigs. It was after everyone was asleep, because they were fine before I retired for the night."

Jacob snorted into his handkerchief, pretending he had a cough to cover it up. "A wee little lass did this?"

"You know what she did to _The Dauntless_ several days ago," Norrington said, looking extremely peeved. "I have a small debt to settle. Please send word ahead of me to the fort, informing them that I shall unfortunately be a bit later than usual, due to unforeseen circumstances."

Jacob nodded once, then burst out laughing once the Commodore had left the room.

* * *

A fierce pounding on the door startled Catherine out of a dreamless slumber.

"Grace? Who's trying to knock down the door?" she called out, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

"I do believe it is the Commodore, ma'am. He looks right angry, he does!" she said nervously. "What did you do this time, if it's not to bold to say?"

"I daresay you shall see in a moment. Where is Thomas?"

"Drunk in his bed. He and the gardener got a bit carried away during their game of whist last night."

"Ah. I shall see to the door then. Wouldn't mind giving him a bit of a start, actually," she said, throwing her morning gown on over her shoulders.

"Bloody hell, I'm coming!" she said, hurrying to the door when the pounding increased. "What on earth do you want, Commodore?" she asked, yawning as she pulled it open.

Norrington's hand had ceased in mid knock, and was now just hanging there limply. "Why do I always manage to catch you in some various state of undress at your home? Anyway, I came because I wanted to know how you managed to switch all the ribbons on my wig!"

"Simple. I untied them."

"Miss Tuttle, you know very well that that is not what I am talking about. Please tell me, and no lies!"

"Very well," she shrugged. "I slipped in over the gate, hid in the bushes, and watched the windows to see which room was yours. Then, I picked the lock, hid in the grandfather clock when a maid came down the hall, snuck up the stairs, hid under the bed while you were in the water closet, shut my eyes to prevent them from shrivelling up into useless bits of whatnot when you dressed for bed, waited until you were asleep, then snuck out and made the wigs look pretty. I then left the same way I came, laughing my bum off at you the entire time. Savvy?" she added in at the end, unable to resist.

"I said no lies," he said, looking slightly stunned.

"Would I lie to you? You know I am notoriously bad at it, first of all. Second of all, how could I pull a story like that out of my bum first thing in the morning?"

"You actually…" Norrington trailed off, looking like someone had hit him in the face with a shovel.

"Yes. Why are you acting so surprised? You know perfectly well what I'm capable of. Never ever underestimate a woman, especially when she's determined."

"Can….can I have my ribbons back please?"

"Well…since you said please…no."

"Tha-what?! I asked nicely this time, too! Give them back, or I shall have you tossed into gaol for breaking and entering."

"You wouldn't!" she scoffed.

* * *

"He would, and he did," she mumbled to herself, as he shut the cell door and handed the key ring over to the dog.

"Have fun, my dear Miss Tuttle!" he smirked, the pink ribbon died black with ink and now devoid of any lace it previously had, thanks to Gillette's quick thinking.

"You will pay for this!" she bellowed at his retreating back. His only response was a laugh, and then the door shut. Catherine glanced over to her right, where there was a group of men leering through the bars at her, making lewd comments and other things men do.

"Oh go to blazes, the lot of you!" she barked, huffing and moving over to the far corner.

As she pondered different ways of getting herself out of the cell, her face suddenly lit up with quite the devious grin, which made even the men in the adjoining one retreat a bit, their comments halted for the time being.

Norrington brought her a book to read along with a tray of food at lunch time and lingered for a bit, watching as she hungrily devoured the words, completely forgetting about the food until he said, "Miss Tuttle? Aren't you going to eat what's on the tray instead of what's in the book?"

"Hm? Oh, right. The tray…hold on, just give me a chapter…I never knew that naval history could be so riveting! Oh, I love the description of this battle!"

"Miss Tuttle, do not make me regret giving you the book. Please eat."

"Fine…men…" she huffed, taking a bite of the bread and returning to the book.

"What battle are they recounting first?" he asked.

"It's talking about how the English went against the Dutch near Jakarta. Absolutely riveting."

"Yes, I do believe you've already said that. I shall take my leave of you now, and I expect to see that entire tray cleared by the time I get back."

Catherine nodded, her eyes racing across the page. When he left, she pushed the tray towards the men with her foot and said, "Here, you eat this. I'm too busy right now."

They took no more encouraging, and within minutes, every scrap of food had disappeared.

Norrington raised a brow when he came back twenty minutes later, but otherwise said not a word.

Catherine flipped through several more pages, then got up and stretched. Moving over to the window, she gazed out at the port, watching several ships come and go. She could have sworn she had seen one with black sails off in the distance, but wasn't sure, since her eyesight wasn't the best by all means.

* * *

Norrington was bringing down her dinner, whistling a tune to himself, when he passed Groves.

"Ah, Commodore! And how is our guest, this eve?' he grinned, laughing a bit.

"I am on my way down to see to her at this very moment, Theo. I bet you anything she's finished that book."

"You gave her something to read? Which one?"

"The book on naval battles during the seventeenth century."

"That one? I'm shocked. Did she seem to enjoy it?" Groves asked, genuinely curious.

"Enjoy it? I couldn't get her to stop reading long enough to take a bite of anything on the tray!" Norrington said.

There was a slight commotion from up ahead, and the smell of burning hair wafted through the corridor.

"Gillette has managed to set fire to his wig again, I bet you a month's wages," Groves sighed. "I'll take care of it, James. You just go and see to your lady love."

"She is not my lady love! I can hardly stand the sight of her!" he scoffed.

"Whatever you say, James…" Groves said, moving off to the storage closet the curses and thumps were issuing from.

Norrington sighed, then continued on down the hall to the stairs leading down into the gaol. He was a bit taken aback when he saw her apparently asleep in the corner.

"Miss Tuttle? Are you awake?" he asked. He was rewarded with a deep sigh, and the sight of her rolling over onto her side, her back facing the door. Rolling his eyes, he unlocked it, leaving the key in, and entered, placing the tray in the opposite corner, but well away from the reaching hands of the men in the adjoining cell. Leaning over her, he reached out a hand to shake her shoulder.

"Miss Tuttle, I have your dinner. If you would be so kind as to wake up..." Norrington was cut off by her leaping up and racing out the door, slamming it shut and locking it behind her.

"Farewell, good Commodore!" she crowed, dashing up the steps, her morning gown whipping out of sight.

All he could do was stare in shock, his mouth hanging open.

* * *

When Gillette went down(without a wig) to release Catherine at the end of the work day, he was instead met with the sight of a fuming Norrington, sitting in the corner of the cell.

"James? Dare I ask?"

"NO," Norrington said vehemently.

"Alright then, I won't."

"Good," he said tersely.

"So…erm…how exactly…"

"Gillette, I do believe I told you to not ask," Norrington growled.

"Mea culpa, James," he said.

Norrinton just huffed.

* * *

Well, I hope you liked this one! I'm working on the next chapter, and I hope to have it out soon. As for Red and White Roses...I'm working on it. ^_^ Read and review! Pleeeeeeaaaaaaase?! *insert puppy dog eyes here*


	4. Chapter 4

**_A.N./_** Okay, I know I took forever...but I wrote twelve pages, just for you! So...review and don't kill me, please? Let me know what you think, since I had this started around six months ago, and I wrote more to it quite sporadically. If it doesn't seem to bland, let me know, and I'll do my best. Okay? Great!

* * *

**_WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THE USE OF MILD LANGUAGE!_** I warned you! It's really not that bad at all...I just needed to say it.

Also, I want to thank all my reviewers, and the people who have either favourited, or put on alert this story. You all make my day every time I see that little notification in my inbox, and I just wanted to let you know that I really do appreciate everything, and that I always try to respond, though I might not get to you all the time.

Here's a slightly late Christmas present for you guys! Happy holidays, and enjoy!

-MP(MidgetPhantom)!

* * *

Catherine laughed to herself the entire way home. Really, it was just too easy! Norrington should have seen it coming. Her thoughts continued like this until she reached her front door.

"Ma'am!" Grace gasped, throwing it open.

"Erm…hello?" she said, looking confused.

"Why did he take you? How did you get out? What happened?" the maid asked in rapid fire.

"Easy, easy! All in due time. As for right now, I should dearly like a bath, and a nap. Oh, and a cup of tea. Thank you, Grace," she said, stepping into the foyer.

"Of course, ma'am."

Catherine wandered through the hallways aimlessly, before going up the stairs to her room and plopping down onto her bed. She was completely unaware of the amount of time that elapsed until Grace came in with the buckets of hot and cold water for her bath.

"Grace?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"…Do you think it's unfair to the Commodore what I am doing to him? Please tell me truthfully."

The maid paused and took a long look at her mistress. "Why would you say that, ma'am? Are you feeling well?"

Catherine fixed her with a look.

"Right. Well…I suppose it could be taken both ways…on the one hand, he does need some excitement in his life since he never partakes in anything other than work. Not to mention, he doesn't seem overly vexed by them. But then again…he never had any argument with you before, if you understand my meaning. It just seems a bit out of the blue, is all."

"Thank you, Grace. I do think it was a bit unfair locking him in the cell in order to escape…"

"You locked him in a cell?!" Grace shrieked, whirling around and nearly knocking over a bucket.

"Oh right. I didn't tell you that, did I? Whoops."

Her maid mumbled to herself and continued preparing the bath.

Once Grace left the room, Catherine plunked in an unladylike fashion into the gigantic tub, and sank in up to her nose in the comfortably hot water. She soaked herself until the water began to cool slightly, then scrubbed every inch of dirt and whatnot off her until her skin turned pink.

As she towelled off, her thoughts turned to her next prank, and how she was going to pull that one off. Norrington was sure to be wary of any sort of attempt on him and his personal effects for the next few days…or years…so she would have to plan everything out and execute it as carefully as possible, else all would be for nothing. Suddenly, a grin lit up her face, which would have caused anyone if they had been in the room to run in the opposite direction as quickly as possible.

* * *

A week had passed since the incident in the gaol, during which Norrington had steadily lowered his guard.

"Well sir," Gillette said as he came up to him, sporting a new wig. "We have seen neither hide nor hair of Miss Tuttle. Do you think this bodes well for us, or not at all?"

"Well, my dear sir," the commodore began. "It can be taken both ways. On the one hand…"

"Alright James, I get it. Don't shoot unless we're absolutely sure it's her."

"Very good, Gillette! You're finally learning something," he said, clapping the lieutenant on the shoulder and walking to his office.

"But…" he stuttered, standing in the middle of the corridor and looking like a lost, be-wigged puppy.

Groves came up silently behind his friend, and said, "So now it's down to shooting, eh?"

"Apparently so, Theo. Apparently so."

* * *

Catherine never thought she would be able to break in a second time at night, much less during the day, but the devil's own luck seemed to be with her, for everyone appeared to have either been given the day off, or had gone to town.

The lock snicked open easily, and she entered the house with some trepidation at first, poised to flee at the slightest of sounds. When it had been made clear that absolutely no one was at home, she gleefully tripped up the stairs and into Norrington's room, hefting the bag she carried from her shoulder to the floor in front of his clothes press. Thanking all the deities she could come up with for her good luck, she hurriedly switched out his last uniform with a Marine's, and sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn't look in there until the following day, when he got ready for work. Laughing evilly to herself, she opened the door, checked both ways, and snuck out. She was just about to go down the stairs when she heard the door open and shut on the main entryway.

"Bugger!" she hissed, not caring what sort of language she used at the moment. Her only thoughts were bent on escaping unnoticed. Dashing back down the corridor and into his room, she wildly glanced around for a place to hide when she spotted the open window. Rushing toward it as the footsteps got ever nearer, she peered out, and almost laughed in relief when she saw the mass of ivy clinging to the wall. Catherine had just ducked out of sight, and was making her way steadily down the wall when the door opened, and Norrington walked in.

She shimmied as quickly as she could down the wall, and then dove into a bush just as the good commodore poked his head out the window. Lying as still as she possibly could, she waited until she heard it bang shut, then risked a glance skyward. The curtains had been drawn over the glass, which allowed her to escape. She dared not risk leaving through the front though, so she made her way to the back, sticking to the hedges like a shadow would its owner.

Catherine did a little victory dance as she made it to the back unnoticed, but then she had to figure out a way to climb over the wall without causing injury to herself, or the barrier. It was too high for her to climb over without some sort of assistance unless she stretched herself out as far as she was able, but she doubted she could pull herself up by her fingertips. Sometimes, being petite was a definite disadvantage.

'_Why on earth did I have to be faced with a problem now?'_ she wondered, her eyes scanning the landscape in front of her. They lit on an old stump, and suddenly, an idea flashed into her mind. She scurried over to it, making a surreptitious glance behind her, hopped on, and threw her arms, uniforms and all, over the top. After several attempts, she managed to haul herself over and to the other side, falling to the ground with a whumph.

"Owwwwww," she moaned to herself, rubbing her sore hip.

* * *

After a congratulatory stop in The Bonny Lass, she made her way home to prepare for her "innocent" journey to Murtogg and Mullroy.

"Ma'am?" Grace called out, coming into the hallway. "Is that you?"

"Of course, Gracie dear!" she chirruped, prancing up the stairs and into her room.

Grace poked her head in and watched her mistress pull out a gown from the wardrobe before disappearing behind the screen. "Erm…what are you doing, ma'am?"

"Going to visit Murtogg and Mullroy, that's what," she answered, mumbling curses under her breath as she struggled to lace the ties in the back.

"Do you need any help?" the maid offered, looking only the slightest bit unsure.

"Yes, thank you! You're a godsend, Grace. You really are," she almost shouted in relief.

In absolutely no time, Grace had her laced and buttoned up, leaving Catherine to wonder how on earth she managed to do it all so quickly every time. Shrugging, she picked up the pilfered uniforms and flounced out of the room, calling back her thanks.

Grace shook her head and sighed, wondering how on earth her parents managed to put up with her for over two decades.

As Catherine made her way down the street to the fort, she realised she had no idea how she would manage to get it to them without being noticed, or whether they were in the fort at all. Pausing by the tavern she had been frequenting due to her questionable nocturnal(and now not-so-nocturnal) activities, she sat down on a bench, and pondered over what to do next.

Fifteen minutes and as many discarded ideas later, she was rewarded with the sight of the two men of her thoughts striding down the street and turning towards the tavern.

"Oh! Mr. Murtogg and Mr. Mullroy!" she called, jumping to her feet and waving to get their attention.

They looked around blankly for a few seconds, before they noticed her. Murtogg spoke out, "Oi! 'S Miss Tuttle, it is! What do you suppose she wants?"

Mullroy answered, "Well, I dunno. I'm not her now, am I?"

"Who said you were?" his friend asked, looking at him like he was an idiot.

"No one ever said I was, I was just saying…"

"Ahem. Will you two please stop your bickering and just come over here? I wish to ask you something."

Looking a bit flustered, they walked over and stood about three feet away. "What can we help you with, madam?" Murtogg asked, bowing slightly at the waist.

"I wish for you to take this. Commodore Norrington has no further need of them."

"What are they?" Mullroy said, looking suspicious.

"Old uniforms from his earlier days. I met his maid several hours ago, and she said she had no idea what to do with them. She was loathe to discard them…the fabric is very fine wool, you see." Catherine smiled inwardly as her plan was set in motion…

* * *

Norrington burst out of his room the next morning, wearing naught but his banyan, bellowing for Jacob.

"What is it, lad?" the exasperated man asked, puffing up the stairs.

"Where on earth have my uniforms gone? Look at what I am left with! A Marine's! Preposterous!" he ranted, thrusting the offending garment at him.

"Miss Tuttle sir, not preposterous," Jacob said, arching a greying bushy eyebrow at him.

"Wha…but…I locked the doors!" he whined, stamping his foot angrily.

"James, you do know you sound like you did when you were three, do you not?" Jacob asked, looking worried for his employer's health and sanity.

"Oh, give me that," he snarled, snatching them from his butler's arms and stalking back into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Jacob sighed and raised his eyes skyward, before turning around and making his way back down the stairs.

* * *

Norrington blew through the corridors of Fort Charles, looking absolutely thunderous. Word had quickly spread that no one was to mention any sort of uniform to him on pain of death, after he exploded at a midshipman who told him the laundress had given him the wrong one.

Normally, he would have thought nothing of Murtogg and Mullroy huddled together whispering in an alcove, but when the pair had a large canvas sack at their feet, and were holding _his _uniforms, that was something entirely different.

"Just where on earth did you get _those_?" Norrington hissed, wheeling about and striding towards them.

Murtogg squeaked at the sight of his puce coloured face and hastily dropped the offending garment into the sack. "Erm…ah…" he stuttered, looking at his friend for supplication. Mullroy shrugged and backed off a ways, leaving him to fend for himself.

"Where, man! Tell me immediately, or I shall have you dishonourably discharged!" the livid commodore thundered.

"M-m-m-miss Tuttle, s-s-s-sir," he stammered, knees knocking together.

"Blast it all! And give me those," he snapped, taking his uniforms and walking toward his office.

Ten minutes later, Norrington was dressed in the proper attire, and was down at the stables.

"Commodore? Where are you going?" Gillette asked, coming out of the tack room. "It's the middle of the morning!"

"I am off to pay a young woman a visit, Gillette. I shan't be long," he muttered tersely, tightening the girth around his horse's belly.

"Congratulations, James! Take all the time you need, Groves and I will handle everything! Might I ask," he said in an aside, leaning closer to his friend to keep things a private as possible. "Do I know her?"

"Yes, you do," he replied shortly, moving over to slip the bit into the unwilling stallion's mouth. "Dammit, Aethon. Just take the bloody thing," he growled, frustrated.

"Who is she?" Gillette prodded, looking more and more excited. "What is her name, James?"

"Miss Catherine Tuttle," he said through clenched teeth.

"Really?" His face looked shocked, but he was willing to accept it. "She is quite a nice young woman when you get past the stubbornness and practical jokes…"

"I am not going there to court her, I am going there to arrest her!" he yelled, causing the restless animal to rear up. Norrington swore and tugged on the bridle, bringing the pawing hooves back down to earth.

"Oh. Ooooh…" Gillette said, comprehension dawning over his features.

Norrington turned his head and looked at him as if to say, _"Duh."_

Finishing, he swung himself up into the saddle and galloped out of the stable, not pausing to say farewell. The people moved out of his way hurriedly, not wishing to be trampled, especially when he got to the narrow, winding streets of the town. He didn't even spare a second glance at Turner, on his way to deliver swords that needed mending, when normally he would have at least nodded in his direction, so intent was he upon reaching his destination.

Catherine was in the gardens, transferring a small lavender bush to a patch of earth with more space around it when he careened up the drive and drew his horse to a quick halt, leaping off and stalking toward her.

"Miss Tuttle, on your feet!" he snapped, his hands fisted at his side.

She twisted around to look behind her, brushing a stray black curl out of her face as she did so. "Commodore, is that you? I don't have my spectacles, and the sun is in my eyes," she called out, squinting.

Briefly, Norrington entertained the thought that she looked rather pretty in the pale blue topaz coloured muslin she was wearing, and then his mind snapped back to business. "Yes, Miss Tuttle, it is. You are to come with me immediately, do you understand? Or do I need to spell it out for you?"

"I do not follow you at all, Commodore. Perhaps if you started at the beginning…?" she said, knowing full well why he was there.

"Oh do get up! Good heavens."

"Let me finish with the lavender. I don't want it to get damaged," she said, turning back around and starting to pack the rich black soil around its roots.

"You have three seconds," he said, rolling his eyes.

"There, all done. Pass me that watering can, will you? It will dry out if I don't, especially since it is so hot out already."

He huffed, but did as he was asked out of gentle breeding and his ever-present sense of duty and propriety. "Now will you stand?" he asked as she set it aside.

"Very well." She rose, but lost her balance, falling into a surprised Norrington's outstretched arms. "Dear Lord!" she said, clutching his lapels. "My feet got in the way of each other again. Thank you, Commodore."

"Do you make a habit of falling on people then?" he asked, looking down at her.

"No. Only the tall ones," she said, standing up and dusting herself off. "What did you need sir? I am correct in thinking that this is not simply a social call?"

"It is not. I am here because you stole my uniforms and replaced them with a Marine's. You are to come with me, and spend the night in gaol as punishment."

"But can you prove I took them?"

"Murtogg and Mullroy said that you gave the sack containing my uniforms to them, claiming that I wanted them to have them, or some other ridiculous piece of drivel."

"I could have found them, and then said that to get you angry with them, you know. Mayhap your laundress forgot them, or was going to sell them for a bit of extra pocket money. Or maybe it was even Elizabeth! She's been dying to sneak into your bedroom for the longest time, you know!"

"How dare you!" he gasped, looking highly affronted. "Elizabeth would never! And besides, she is betrothed to that Turner whelp."

"But she was engaged to you first," she said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

Norrington's face purpled, but he refrained from saying or doing anything that he most likely wasn't going to regret later.

"So. What punishment are you going to have for me today?" she questioned, straightening his lapels.

Norrington pushed her hands down and said, "You shall have to work in the kitchens. Cook will tell you what to do."

"You're not going to arrest me again and throw me in gaol?"

"No. I don't feel like being locked in my own cell again."

She paused for a few seconds and said, "I could have sworn you had the key…oh well!"

"Will you just get on the damn horse?!" he huffed, his patience at its end.

"Will you help me up? He's much too tall for me. Not to mention, I'm in skirts, and I doubt you would want to see me sling my leg over his back. Beautiful animal, by the way. Thoroughbred? He looks magnificent. What is his name?" she said, hardly pausing for breath.

Norrington passed a hand down his face and said, "No, I definitely do not want to even imagine you trying to mount him without assistance…ugh…and yes, he is a Thoroughbred. His name is Aethon, meaning…"

"I know what it means," she said. "Burning, fiery. That is the literal translation of the Greek word. I assume it has something to do with his temperament? You know my own horse, of course…"

Norrington made a step for her with his hands and helped her mount, before settling himself into the saddle in front. "How can anyone forget that beast? He's deadly, and should be nowhere near civilised people. I cannot believe you manage to ride that thing."

"Sabbath is a beautiful horse! Just because he happens to be very high strung, it does not mean he is evil, or anything else. Good Lord," she stated, pinching his side as he moved Aethon off down the drive again.

"He is pitch black, enormous, and looks like he came from the Bowels of Hell itself! And you're trying to tell me the thing isn't dangerous? He threw so many people before you decided to buy him…and why on earth is he named Sabbath, anyway?"

"Because he puts the fear of God right into you! Besides, you're just jealous because I can keep my seat on him longer than you ever could."

"That's probably because you put some sort of spell on him!" he snorted. "And I am not jealous."

"So now I am a witch?" she smirked. "Must be a step up."

Norrington didn't deign to give a reply for that.

* * *

Once he left her at the mercy of the kitchen staff, Norrington returned to his office to fill out more reports, file papers, and down several shots of brandy. He repeated this process for a good while until Gillette knocked on his door and entered before his friend could say yea or nay.

"James? I erm…I think you should come down to the kitchens and see this for yourself," he stated, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Stop fidgeting! I can only focus on one of you at a time!" Norrington said, getting to his feet slightly unsteadily. "What is going on?

"Miss Tuttle," was all the lieutenant had to say to sober the good commodore up, it seemed.

One second, he was standing at his desk dumbly, succinctly saying, "Oh shit." The next, he was striding out his door, not bothering to wait for Gillette. As the lieutenant trotted behind him, Norrington was muttering, "She's probably got the cook in a stranglehold at the moment…I never should have left those two alone. They're like hot oil and water…"

"But it practically explodes when you add water to it," Gillette said, looking confused.

"That is exactly my point, Lieutenant. Go find Groves. Can you tell me why on earth I didn't just throw her in the gaol?" he whirled around suddenly, walking backwards.

"James, turn around before you smack into something," Gillette warned, watching the looming corner warily.

Norrington spun around just in time to avoid colliding with the stone, and continued his diatribe.

The walk to the kitchens generally took a good few minutes seeing as it was in the very heart of the fort, but Norrington was able to cut the time in half due to the speed with which he was moving. Whatever scene he was expecting, it certainly wasn't it when he burst through the door. "Gillette?" he said slowly, staring at the people in front of him. "Would you like to explain what is going on?"

"Well…you walked away too quickly for me to clarify sir…ahm…I believe that she's managed to turn your punishment around…"

Catherine was elbow deep in dough and absolutely covered in flour while the cook tutored her on the finer points of roasting the perfect cut of sirloin. All around them, the lesser kitchen staff scurried to and fro, gathering pots and pans, discarding other utensils, and generally giving the place the look of a bedlam.

"Miss Tuttle? Might I speak with you a moment, or are you unable to come away?" Norrington said, walking forward a bit tentatively, worried he might step in the way of someone.

"I am rather busy at the moment sir, but you may definitely come over here," she answered, tossing back the errant curl that always seemed to take the most pleasure in hanging in front of her nose and tickling it.

"What are you making?" he asked, poking curiously at the huge lump of dough, half expecting it to poke him back.

"Bread. I haven't done this in so long, I nearly forgot, but dear Susie here helped refresh my memory. What was it you had to ask me?"

"Oh yes," Norrington said, coming back to his senses. "Are you out of your mind? How do you always manage to charm everyone around you? And you have a bit of flour on the tip of your nose," he added as an afterthought.

"Commodore, in case you failed to take notice, I am covered in the substance. A bit on my nose won't make much difference either way you look at it. And as for "charming" everyone…it's simply my nature!" she smiled sweetly, batting her eyelashes at him.

Turning around, Norrington looked at Gillette sternly and said, "Is this what you dragged me down here for? A girl kneading bread dough?"

As his friend was about to open his mouth to answer, a riot of voices sounded from behind another door, which opened suddenly, spilling out a bushel of children.

"What do we do next, Miss Tuttle? We found the cat," a tall boy said, standing up proudly and saluting her.

"Well Tommy…" she said, pausing to think. "You're the general. What do you think needs to be done?"

"But you're the Lady General Tuttle! You're in charge of the army. I just give your orders to my men…and women," he allowed, as several tow-headed girls, who by the looks of it were sisters, fisted their hands on their hips and glared at him.

"Well…how about you order your army to help the Lady General Tuttle knead this bread dough? _After_ you've all washed your hands thoroughly, of course." She smiled fondly as they scurried over to the sinks, another of the staff pumping the water for them.

"_That_ James, is what I wanted to show you," Gillette muttered, as they pushed and shoved each other for space.

"Ah," Norrington said, his throat suddenly tight as he watched her move over to let them in. Everyone looked so happy, it was almost unbearable. He had lost everything when Elizabeth refused him, and yet they looked as if Christmas had come several months early. "Miss Tuttle…I mean…Lady General Tuttle, are you certain you will be able to handle this…army?" he said, standing ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Of course, Brigadier General Norrington!" she laughed. Catherine was about to say something else when one of the tow-headed girls, who must have been no older than four, tugged on her sleeve and said quietly, "Kitty? Will you come here tomorrow too and play pretend with us again?"

"Of course, darling. I'll come as often as you wish," she smiled tenderly, leaning down to place a motherly kiss on her blonde curls.

* * *

By the end of the work day, Norrington had a splitting headache. As he was walking down to the kitchens, he met her waiting in the corridor, looking exhausted.

"Miss Tuttle? Are you feeling ill?" he asked, looking a bit confused.

"Of course not, Commodore. I am merely worn out. Those children really do take all the energy from a person," she laughed. "They are delightful though. I am so happy they are allowed to stay within the fort."

"It is easier on their parents, seeing as they don't constantly have to worry where their children are during the day, or what sort of trouble they've gotten into," he replied. "Come. It is time for you to return home."

She nodded and followed him to the stables, where he helped her mount Aethon again, before settling himself in the saddle as well. The journey back to her home was silent, with Norrington absorbed by his thoughts and Catherine nodding off against his back, her arms wrapped snugly around his waist.

When they arrived, he said quietly, "You are at your house now, Miss Tuttle. Please allow me to help you down."

She slid off Aethon's back and into his hold without a word, and accepted his arm after he set her down on the ground. "You seem to have a natural affinity with children, madam," he said quietly, glancing back at the chestnut animal to make sure he wasn't wandering off.

"I dearly love them, especially little Emma," she answered as Grace opened the door and pulled them both inside.

They followed the maid into the library, where a dying fire was promptly stoked up into a cheery blaze, effectively warming the cooling space. "I am surprised at how chilly it was in here," Catherine muttered, going over to shut the windows.

"The sea breeze will do it," Norrington answered, accepting the cup of tea Grace had forced into his hand.

He stayed only long enough to imbibe the beverage, then took his leave of the Tuttle household. "Good evening, Miss Tuttle, madam," he said, bowing to her and Grace before walking out the door and mounting Aethon.

Catherine watched from the window as he disappeared down the long drive, then said happily, "Today was most eventful, Grace. I shall be back at the fort tomorrow…there are some children there who have me wrapped about their little finger."

"Of course, ma'am," she said, retreating to the library to bring the tray to the kitchen.

The mistress of the house lay in bed that night, feeling quite contented indeed.

* * *

_Well, that's it! Please, tell me what you thought. I need the constructive criticism so I may do better! Thanks!_

-MP!


	5. Chapter 5

_**A.N.:**__ Oh my goodness! I cannot believe I haven't updated this thing in four years! I feel I must beg your forgiveness in making you all wait so long. This is simply inexcusable on my part. However, I have another chapter done and one more in the works. I plan on cranking out chapters all night, and hopefully long into tomorrow as well. Being sick during break gives you that freedom. :) I'm also making a facebook page for my stories, so check my profile for a link. I'll be posting one once I have it made. Thanks so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!_

_-Laerwen_

* * *

Once she was back at the fort, Catherine had a grand total of three seconds before several children let out a war cry and launched themselves at her skirts.

"Kitty! You're back!" a small boy of around eight said, looking up at her from amid the voluminous green fabric.

"Of course I am, silly!" she laughed, patting his dusty head and disentangling herself from the little arms. "Did you think I could stay away from all of you?"

The boy snorted and said, "I am not silly, I'm Billy! How could you get my name wrong?"

"You are a very silly Billy then, if you think I forgot your name," she grinned, walking forward and towing three or four renegades behind her on her skirts. Norrington, having been alerted to her presence by one of the marines, walked into the courtyard of the fort at that moment, a small smile showing on his face when he saw them all tumbling and running around her, chatting animatedly all the while as she attempted to make her way toward the kitchens.

"It seems you have managed to find your way in without too much trouble," the commodore in question said, striding up to walk next to her, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Oh trust me, Commodore. I could find my way into anything," she smirked, giving him an impish wink.

"Why am I not surprised?" he muttered, raising a brow at the forwardness of her actions.

She ignored him and continued on her way, listening to what each child had to tell her.

"Kitty, I swear, it was the hugest thing..."

"And then he said..."

"You'll never guess what happened!..."

"Mama told me..."

On and on it went, until they reached the door to the kitchens. "Now," Catherine said, looking seriously at each of them. "When we go inside, we are going to show your mothers and fathers how quietly you can do this. Then, you shall all wash your hands properly, Billy this means you too, and you will help me make apple pies. Hmm? Is that feasible?"

Emma tugged on her skirt.

"Yes, dear?" Catherine asked, looking at her.

"What does 'feasible' mean, Kitty?" the little girl asked, her large eyes wide and questioning.

"Feasible is something doable or possible. For instance, it is feasible for you to open the door, no?" she explained patiently.

"Oh. I understand," she said, giving her a radiant smile.

"Very well. Now, let us all go in, shall we?" she said, turning the knob and pushing the door open.

One by one, they each marched in, looking like miniature soldiers. Norrington leaned against the door frame, watching as the children took turns washing their hands and then joining Catherine by the wooden table once they had finished.

"Are you quite certain you will be alright in here?" he asked, as she got out the ingredients. "I will be in my office going over paperwork for the rest of the day. Of course, if you need me..." he trailed off.

"No, I do believe we shall be perfectly fine here, don't you think, children?" she said, giving them each a radiant smile.

Norrington nodded. "Very well then. If you need my assistance with anything, do not hesitate to send word. I shall make myself available for you."

"Thank you, Commodore," she answered. Her attention was already taken by the children, so he slipped out the door and down the corridor.

* * *

Norrington decided several hours was long enough to go without checking on her, so he head back down to the kitchens. When he walked through the door, he was met with the sight of Catherine standing at a counter with a group of children working diligently at their pies alongside her. He strode over and peered over her shoulder.

"Is that supposed to be a pie?" he asked.

Catherine turned around and arched a brow. "Why yes indeed…Commodore Norrykins."

Norrington coughed and spluttered. "I beg your pardon?" he said in shock.

The children around them giggled, and one, Emma, clapped her hands over her mouth to prevent herself from laughing outright.

"I said yes indeed, Commodore Norrykins. Do you perhaps need to get your hearing tested?" Catherine asked him all too sweetly.

"No I do not, thank you very much," Norrington answered hotly.

"Excellent! Then we should have no problems. Are you planning on staying and baking with us? If so, you will need to wash your hands. Your fingers are full of ink," she said. Emma giggled into her flour-covered hands and looked at her sisters with anticipation.

Norrington huffed. "No, I absolutely will not be staying! And my fingers do not have ink on them."

Catherine gave him a dubious glance. "Then what is that? An obscenely large freckle?"

"What? Where?" he yelped, turning his hands this way and that. A dark splotch on the side of his middle finger caught his eye and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his clean left hand.

"It appears you have found it then," Catherine said. "Run along and do whatever it is Commodores do. The children and I are going to finish these up, and then we shall be going outside for a walk about the battlements. I have already spoken to some of your Marines to make certain we wouldn't be getting in their way."

Norrington sighed. "Very well. Just make sure the children won't run off. Some things can be dangerous up there. Also, keep away from the edge. We wouldn't want anyone falling off now, would we?" he asked, eyeing each child in turn.

"No, sir," they murmured in unison.

Norrington observed them for a few more seconds before nodding and turning back to Catherine. "Madame, I leave them in your charge. If you require my assistance, I shall be in my office. Have a Marine come fetch me." And with that, he left.

* * *

Catherine and the children finished their pies, left them to cool on a couple windowsills, and then linked hands with each other and made the journey up winding, narrow stone stairs to the very top of the fort.

The wind whipped their hair about their faces and stung the eyes, but it was a welcome relief from the hot, stifling kitchens. The sun glimmered off the incredibly blue waters, and the sea seemed to stretch on for eternity.

"Children, look!" Catherine said. "Isn't this lovely?" Emma bounced around her skirts while Billy raced off to talk to the nearest Marine about pirates and cannons. Tommy was grimacing and picking Sarah's curls out of his mouth. The girl was nearly a mirror image of her sister. The youngest of the three merely sat and played with the hem of her gown.

"Betsy, get up! You got in my way!" Emma exclaimed, stomping her foot and fisting her hands on her hips in frustration. Betsy looked up at her sister and merely smiled.

"What does Mama always tell you to say?" she lisped sweetly.

"Fine. Betsy, will you _please _get up?" Emma huffed.

Betsy shook her head and her sister dropped her hands in annoyance. "Kitty, make her move!"

Catherine laughed and looked down at the two of them. "Come along, my dears. Why don't we go and see what that nice Marine has to say to Billy? Tommy, George, Sarah, come along. We are going this way." She moved off in a stately fashion with the children tumbling behind her like little court jesters as they frolicked.

* * *

After they finished speaking with the Marine, they all clasped hands again and took several turns about the battlements while Catherine spun stories about her childhood, fairies, and famous warriors from ages long past. This tired out the children sufficiently, and by late afternoon even George, the oldest (and the tallest, as he was so fond of stating), was yawning mightily. Betsy was practically falling asleep where she was standing, so Catherine picked her up and carried her back down the stairs, her sisters and the rest of the children in tow.

There had been a small, unused storage room several of the parents had converted into a play room for the children. Inside were several cots for them, if they wished to take a nap (usually, they didn't). Catherine settled them in here now, and personally tucked each one in. Betsy refused to sleep without someone next to her, so she was put to bed with her older sister Sarah. Emma gloated over the fact that she got her own cot to herself, but that was relatively short-lived, as she fell asleep within moments of her head hitting the pillow. Stubborn as ever, George was the last to fall asleep, whining until the proverbial eleventh hour.

Once everyone was settled, Catherine left the room and quietly shut the door. She asked a passing Marine to lead her to Norrington's office, and thanked him once they arrived. He clicked his heels together and bowed smartly with a brief, "Mum," then turned around and left. Catherine sighed and raised her hand to knock.

Norrington was stirred from his concentration upon a vast amount of paperwork by several quiet raps on his door.

"Enter," he barked. He raised a brow, but admitted to himself he wasn't surprised, when Catherine came into the room.

"Yes? Did you need something?" he asked somewhat testily.

"Only to say that the children are sleeping and I shall be returning home now. Thank you for letting me come here today, Commodore," she said. Norrington stared at her uncomprehendingly for a few seconds.

"Wait. Did you say that the children were _sleeping_?" he asked. "How on earth did you manage that?"

Catherine smiled fondly and said, "I just walked them about the battlements several times. That seemed to tire them out enough. I had to carry Betsy down the stairs. She was falling asleep where she stood."

"Were you able to manage?" Norrington asked. He was a bit worried. Miss Tuttle could by no means be considered a large person, and the stairs were steep and winding.

"Oh yes," she answered. "She weighs practically nothing. Well, I fear I shall be off now, Commodore Norrykins. I shall see you on Monday." With that, she waved flippantly and flounced out of the room.

Norrington growled to himself. 'I do wish she would stop calling me that,' he thought irritatedly. 'Before I know it, she'll likely have the whole fort calling me that.'


	6. Chapter 6

_**A.N.:**__Okay, so here's another chapter. I know these are rather short, but they seem to work better with the story. After all, they are supposed to be snippets of Catherine's daily life. Thank you so much for all the kind reviews, and the story favorites! I really appreciate all of them. _**Please read this: **_I have Red and White Roses still in the works, but I am unsure whether I am able to continue it the way it is, as it is very out of character in the beginning for elves. I have a poll up on my profile, so I would love to hear your feedback regarding what you think I should do with it. I have no intentions of abandoning any of my stories though. Always lovely to hear from you!_

_-Laerwen_

* * *

Catherine took the opportunity that weekend to rest and plan her next course of action. She was enjoying this entire escapade immensely, especially since it challenged her creativity and quick thinking. She debated going to The Bonny Lass later on Saturday evening, but in the end tossed that to the side. She really was tired, and in no mood to cross-dress for a single glass of rum. In the end, it proved to be a good idea that she didn't go, for she received an invitation from Elizabeth to supper.

"Grace, please tell the messenger I have accepted Miss Swann's invitation," she said as she went over to the clothes press. She missed the curtsey her maid sent her way as she opened the door, perusing the contents. She finally settled on a deep plum frock with contrasting cream lace and petticoat by the time Grace returned.

"Very well, ma'am," she said as she viewed Catherine's choice. "I shall have this aired out for you while I do your hair."

Catherine nodded and settled in her chair in front of her vanity mirror and watched as Grace dismantled the simple updo she had created that morning and began to brush it out.

"I fear there is no time to set your hair in curling rags, but I can take an iron to it, ma'am," Grace said.

"Do what you will," Catherine responded. She sat patiently while her maid created an elaborate style, and even allowed her to add the faintest hint of rouge to her cheeks and lips.

"Now, I have never tried this before on you, but I should like to. Mrs. Bartlett's maid was telling me about how she used it on her for galas and balls…" Grace said as she came forward with a little pot of black and a tiny brush.

"What are you going to do with that, give me whiskers?" Catherine asked. She wasn't so sure she wanted that near her face.

Grace rolled her eyes and said, "No ma'am. 'Tis for your eyelashes. They're black already, but this should draw more attention to your eyes."

Catherine leaned back when Grace made to start painting her lashes. "Emmmm…are you absolutely certain you know how to use that properly?" she asked nervously.

Grace huffed. "Ma'am, would I do this to you if I didn't?"

She sighed and forced herself to sit up straight again. "Very well. What do I have to do?"

"Perhaps if you looked down a slight bit, this way you won't get black on your lids. Then you mustn't blink until they are all dry," Grace responded.

Catherine sat stock still as Grace came at her with the brush again, brow furrowed in concentration. It was ridiculously hard – the sight of the black coated bristles nearing her eyes made her nervous, and it tickled horribly, which made her eyes water. Grace tutted when she jerked her head back and blinked furiously, staining her lower lids with a sun ray pattern.

"I am sorry," she apologized. "I simply could not help it. It tickled my eyes so," Catherine said.

Grace took a damp soft rag to her lower lids and wiped off the black stains. "Nearly finished now, I promise," she said. "Just a little more."

True to her word, she was done a few minutes later, and left Catherine sitting and trying not to blink while she screwed on the lid to the pot and put everything away.

"Now just a bit of powder, and you shall be finished," she said.

"Which is it, Grace? The white lead lays heavy on my skin and itches it so," Catherine said.

"Don't worry ma'am," Grace said as she returned with a larger pot and a fluffy powder puff. "It's the rice powder. You shan't feel a thing."

Once her cosmetics had all been applied and allowed to set, Grace and Catherine moved to behind the screen and began the long process of getting into evening dress. A fresh shift had been put on, along with cream silk stockings and new garters, and a freshly laundered and starched under petticoat secured. Then came the panniers, the over petticoat in new cream watered silk, and the embroidered pockets. Lastly, the stomacher and plum gown came on, and then the back was laced and secured. Catherine slipped her feet into black shoes, grabbed a fan in matching cream with tiny flowers in plum painted in a random pattern, and allowed a hat to be pinned to the top of her pile of curls. Finally, Grace proclaimed her ready, and followed her mistress down the stairs.

She saw her safely into the family carriage, and then stepped back into the house once it began to move down the curving drive.

* * *

Catherine was not surprised to find Norrington already seated at the dinner table when she arrived, sans hat of course. She had removed that along with her cloak as soon as she entered the Governor's Mansion.

Elizabeth rose to greet her. "Catherine! How lovely to see you! You look wonderful," she said, taking her hand and admiring the gown. "That color looks so well on you. And…did you do something to your eyes?"

Catherine laughed. "My! What a little ball of excitement you are, and full of questions as well! Anything else you wish to say before we eat?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes in a decidedly unladylike fashion at her friend before leading her over to the table.

Both gentlemen had risen to greet her, and Norrington bowed over her hand before placing a kiss near her wrist. "Always a pleasure to see you, Miss Tuttle," he practically drawled. "I must admit, I am unused to seeing you dressed as a proper young lady. The last few times you were either dripping seawater or covered in flour."

"Yes, I have indeed heard of your escapades, Miss Tuttle," Governor Swann broke in with a fatherly smile. "You certainly seem to be running the dear Commodore and his men in circles. Elizabeth has been telling me all about them."

Catherine merely smirked at Norrington as they all took their seats and waited for supper to begin. Shortly after, the doors opened and the servants marched in bearing silver covered platters and tureens of soup. Though it was only a small party, Governor Swann liked to keep his table well-stocked.

"Governor, the food smells absolutely delightful," Catherine said once the covers were taken away.

"Yes indeed," Norrington concurred. "Much better than the food in the mess hall, certainly."

Swann laughed. "I should hope so," he practically boomed across the table. His cheeks were rosy, testament to the several glasses of Madeira he had imbibed already.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes as the two men served her and Catherine, and then set to eating.

* * *

Once supper was over, she and Elizabeth retired to the parlor while Norrington and Swann stayed in the dining room over port and a cigar on the Governor's end. As soon as the door was shut, Elizabeth turned to her friend and said, "You must tell me everything. What have you been doing those times you went to the fort? Is anything progressing between you and the Commodore?" Her eyes were practically glowing in excitement.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "No, Elizabeth. For your information, I have been with the children there. They are absolutely delightful, and have me wrapped around their little fingers. Have you never seen them?"

Elizabeth looked stunned. "No! I had no idea there were even children there! I suppose it is because I have never been there much…not like you have. I was there for ceremonies of course, and occasional visits, but I never went very deep. Where did you find them?"

"They were running about the kitchens and getting underfoot, so the first time I went I had them do little tasks to keep them busy and out of the way. Yesterday we baked some pies and then took several turns about the battlements until they grew weary. I put them to bed and went home after that," Catherine said. "So. Why is Mr. William Turner not with us tonight?"

Elizabeth sighed. "He fell ill. One of his burns became infected and his arm is swollen. He cannot work until it heals. I always tell him to be more careful, but he never listens. He is so reckless, I wonder at him sometimes."

"I do hope he heals speedily," Catherine said. "Come. While we wait for those men to finish their port, why do we not play some music? You can choose what you wish."

"Very well," Elizabeth nodded. "Do you mind taking the harp? I fear I am not proficient enough to play it."

"Naturally," Catherine agreed. She waited for Elizabeth to settle herself at the harpsichord and choose the proper sheet music before the two of them launched into the rondo. They were in the middle of it when Norrington and Swann joined them.

"Well! What do we have here?" the Governor asked. "What is this, an aria?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "No Father, this is a rondo. Go sit down and play some chess."

Swann patted his daughter on the shoulder fondly and settled at a small card table. "Care for some whist, Commodore?"

"Very well," Norrington said. He and the Governor played for a couple hours while the two women alternated playing music. Elizabeth stuck to the harpsichord, while Catherine went back and forth between that and the harp.

Nearing ten o'clock, Catherine and Norrington stood up at the same time, said their farewells, and left, Catherine in her carriage and Norrington on his horse.

* * *

On Monday, Catherine had just about had it with Norrington. He had been in a terrible mood all day, and responded snappily to all of her comments. She had walked the battlements with him after putting the children down for another nap, and huffed in frustration at another acid response of his.

"What, do I bore you madam?" he asked. He wore a disgruntled expression on his face.

"No, but I would appreciate not having my head bitten off at every turn," Catherine shot back.

He gave her a sour look and turned to face the water.

"Commodore, what is going on with you? You have been in such a black mood all day. If you do not wish for my company, merely say so, and I shall be on my way."

Norrington heaved a great sigh. "Perhaps so," he snapped.

Catherine glared at him, her hands fisted in her skirts. A strange gleam came into her eye suddenly, and Norrington had the sense to be slightly nervous.

"Does it hurt?" she asked in a sickly sweet tone. Norrington knew immediately he was in trouble.

"Does what hurt?" he asked in confusion.

"The giant stick up your posterior!" she snapped. With that, she turned away, her skirts smacking his ankles, and disappeared down the stairs.

Norrington stared after her in surprise, then became aware of the snickering going on behind him. "Back to your posts," he barked in annoyance. With that, he returned to his office and locked himself in for the rest of the day.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A.N.: **__Holy cheese, my traffic graph records 2,056 views? That's crazy! However, I am noticing a lack in reviews...__I am anxious to hear what you guys think. Please, don't be afraid to write constructive criticism. I always love to hear your opinions, and if there's anything that will make this story better, go ahead and tell me what you think. I only ask that you not write a flame, as I don't find them helpful, and quite frankly, I ignore them. There's nothing I can gain from an inarticulated, heated rant besides viewing the person as hate-filled and ignorant of giving proper criticism where it is needed. Thanks again for all the favorites! Apologies in advance for the rather short chapter, but the next two will be a bit longer._

* * *

It was abundantly clear to Norrington in the following days that Catherine was still spitting mad at him. She wore a false, tight little smile every time they happened to meet, and her eyes were snapping with fury.

On the fourth day of enforced silence on her part, save in public, Norrington cornered her in the fort and said, "Alright. What is wrong, Miss Tuttle? What has you so angry with me?"

"Who said I was angry?" she asked him imperiously.

"Oh, I don't know. Just a feeling!" he snapped sarcastically.

"And what gave you that idea?" Catherine bit out.

"Perhaps the fact that you have been utterly ignoring me, have been glaringly obvious in your disdain of my person when we happen to meet in public, and your general air of disgust every time we come across each other!" Norrington exclaimed.

"My goodness," she smirked coldly. Norrington almost wished she was raging at him instead. "You actually managed to string more than five words together into a sentence! Congratulations. Now if you don't mind, I should like to take my leave of you." With that, Catherine stalked off again, her cream colored muslin gown whispering behind her.

* * *

For the remainder of the week, she stayed away from him at all costs. When he finally cornered her after she settled the children in their play room, he asked, "Will you walk with me?"

She gave him a measuring look, but agreed.

"I feel as if I am missing something here. What precisely has made you so angry with me?" he asked as they took a turn about the courtyard.

"It was your persistent attitude and sharp-tongued comments, and your failure to acknowledge them," she said.

Norrington stared at her in disbelief for a few moments before saying, "That's it?"

Clearly, this was the wrong thing to say. Catherine's expression shuttered, and she withdrew her arm from his. "I think I shall bid you good day, Commodore," she said coolly.

Norrington sighed in frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a few moments, he looked up and began to go after her. Catherine, however, was walking at a surprisingly fast clip, and Norrington was obliged to jog several paces before his long legs allowed him to catch up.

"Miss Tuttle, wait. Please listen to me," he said, placing a hand on her arm.

She turned around with an exasperated look on her face. "Yes Commodore, what is it?" she asked testily.

"I understand my behavior was atrocious, and I wish to apologize for that. However, when I made that comment, I meant no offense to you. I was simply surprised that it had been for that. I thought I had made quite a serious transgression upon your person, and had been wracking my brains trying to think what it could have been."

She stared at him unblinkingly until he began to feel uneasy, and then nodded. "I accept your apology," she said in a low voice. "Elizabeth has extended an invitation to luncheon this Saturday. Will you be joining us?" Catherine asked.

Norrington nodded. "Yes, indeed, madam. I look forward to seeing you then."

"Likewise," she smiled tightly. Apparently, not all was forgiven.

* * *

When Saturday rolled around, Norrington strode up to the front door and knocked. He handed his cloak and hat to the servant, and proceeded into the dainty sitting room, where an informal luncheon was set out.

"Hello, Commodore!" Elizabeth chirped. "I hope your ride was not too wet? This dreadful weather seems to be getting to everyone today. Even Catherine is brooding!"

Said woman shot a filthy glare at her friend and returned to sipping her tea, a dark look on her face.

"My dear Miss Tuttle, what has you in such a mood?" Norrington chuckled.

"Nothing," she growled.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "She has an unwelcome visitor," she said.

"Oh really? Who?" Norrington asked.

"My rotten cousin decided to prance off a ship and into my sitting room last night," she grumbled into her cup. "I simply cannot abide Alistair. He is foul, spoiled, a nancy, and downright rude! Not to mention chauvinist," she added.

"Indeed?" Norrington said dubiously. "And how long shall this delightful model of society be staying for?"

"Three months!" Catherine all but roared. Elizabeth jumped next to her on the overstuffed sofa.

"My goodness, Catherine! I think you might have ruptured my eardrum!" she exclaimed.

"You would be shouting too, if you had a cousin like Alistair!" Catherine responded. "I cannot believe his audacity! Ugh!" She threw herself back against the sofa in disgust and glanced into her teacup, which proved to be empty. "Elizabeth, would you mind serving me a bit more tea?" she asked. "I find myself lacking some."

"Of course, my dear friend," Elizabeth laughed.

Norrington himself was chuckling while the Swann girl refilled the porcelain cup. "I think I might have to meet this charming individual and see for myself then."

"Your funeral," she muttered. "I tell you, he's absolutely horrible to get on with. It was a miracle that I managed to get away from him at all. I only fear my staff will up and leave because of him. I tell you, he's abominable."

Norrington laughed again, but said, "I believe you, never fear." After that, they turned to the dainty little finger sandwiches, tea, and cakes set out by the servants.

Conversation flowed as much as the food and drink, and by the time the clock struck two they were already on their third pot of tea.

"Elizabeth, I have no wish to overstay my welcome, but I truly do not have any desire to go back home right now," Catherine sighed as she sprawled elegantly over her side of the couch. Elizabeth was her mirror image on the opposite end, and Norrington was lounging quite comfortably in his own armchair, his feet propped up on a squashy footstool.

"Please. You could never overstay," Elizabeth said, waving a lazy hand. "Spend the night if you want. Have Grace send over a small trunk of clothes for tomorrow."

"No, I could not do that, I am afraid," she sighed. "Alistair would never forgive me. Not to mention, it wouldn't be seemly, considering I am his hostess, however unwilling. I shall have to go home at some point."

"Hmmm…I suppose you are right," Elizabeth agreed, nodding over her newest cup of tea.

"Naturally. I am always right," Catherine sniffed. She and Elizabeth looked at each other, and then burst out laughing. Norrington grinned – it pleased him greatly to see the two of them acting so free and, dare he say, silly, with each other.

It had been some months since the events of The Black Pearl and the pirates' sacking of Port Royal, and he finally felt like he was starting to heal. It still hurt when he thought about his failed engagement, and sometimes his heart stuttered to a stop in his chest when Elizabeth walked into a room, but he was truly at peace now with his decision, and this allowed his friendship with the fiery, headstrong woman to be cultivated into something even greater than what they had previously had. Somehow, somewhere along the way, even with all of her pranking and general trickery, Catherine Tuttle had managed to worm her way in and was considered a friend, too. Norrington knew he was going insane when he finally acknowledged her new status in his eyes.

As the afternoon wore on, the small party increased in hilarity until Norrington started to suspect that perhaps the tea was being spiked with brandy.

"…So then," Catherine was saying, her face red from laughter, "So then he goes up to her with her wig in his hands, drunk as a lord, and says, 'Madame, I fear you have lost your hair!' The Countess was so affronted she slapped him across the cheek with her fan! My cousin never recovered in her eyes, but it was her fault for wearing such an atrociously high wig. Her sister obviously felt my cousin was in the right of it though, for they married a year later. Oh, la! Look at the time! It's after four. Alistair will have his britches in a bundle if I don't go home soon." Catherine sighed.

"Oh please, Catherine. Do stay! I should love to hear what your cousin did with the Countess as his sister-in-law!" Elizabeth pleaded. "He sounds so free! Clearly, society does not mean much to him."

"Absolutely not!" Catherine said decidedly. "Patrick could not give a tuppence for what society thinks of him. From what I hear, he constantly antagonizes the odious woman. I heard he even secretly knocked her wig from her head with a billiards stick once. She was leaning over to give some treat to her little lap dog, and he did it as he was moving around the table. She never knew it was him. Although, he was apparently quite drunk at the time, so it is entirely possible he did it by accident and claimed credit for it later, when his wits were about him."

"Exactly how big is your family?" Norrington asked. "You have a cousin here, a cousin married to a Viscountess…who else?"

"Oh, our family is sprawling," she said flippantly, waving a hand. "There are relatives all over England, and some in the Lowlands of Scotland. We are the only ones in the Caribbean so far though. Well, now Alistair is here too. Apparently it was for his 'health'. Faugh! He likes to play his _doting _mother's sympathies with complaints of a '_weak constitution_'!" She made her voice take on a hard, grating, high pitched edge that had Norrington wincing.

"Good Lord, does he really sound like that?"

"Absolutely," she sighed, throwing her head back against the armrest of the sofa. "And to imagine…I have that to live with for the next quarter year…"

"Oh, you poor baby," Elizabeth cooed, patting her shoulder.

"Oh, get off!" Catherine laughed. She sighed, stretched, and said, "I should really be getting home now. Thank you for a delightful luncheon and respite from much needless whining, my dear."

She paused and sniffed as she walked past Norrington, and said, "Ew, what _is_ that smell?" Then she smirked, and Norrington knew (with an annoyed roll of his eyes) that everything was back to normal.


	8. Chapter 8

**_A.N.:_**_ Thank you again for all of the lovely reviews and the story favorites! In this chapter, we'll be seeing Alistair in the flesh for the first time. Please do let me know what you think of him. I have to admit, he's one of my favorite characters...he's just so much fun to write. Be prepared to see and hear a lot of Alistair in the coming chapters. Read and review! :)_

_-Laerwen_

* * *

Norrington found his way over to the Tuttle household several days after the luncheon. While he waited outside the door, he thought back to Catherine's comments about her cousin. Women were prone to exaggeration after all, so he wasn't taking her absolutely seriously. Unfortunately for him, that was all about to change.

As soon as he was shown into the sitting room, he knew something was wrong. Catherine was sitting on the sofa with a cup and saucer in her hands and a frazzled expression on her face. Her cousin, Alistair, was standing by the mantle and lecturing her on the fine points of…was that lacework he was talking about? Norrington blinked and returned the smile she gave him, though his wasn't quite as strained.

"Commodore! So good to see you! Do make yourself comfortable. I shall ring for more tea and cakes," she said, getting up immediately and setting her teacup down before going to the bell pull and tugging sharply on the decorative rope. Once that was done, she returned to her seat and said, "Commodore, this is Alistair Tuttle, Lord Witney, my cousin recently arrived from London. Alistair, this is my dear friend, Commodore James Norrington."

Norrington bowed at the waist and said, "A pleasure to meet you, Sir Alistair."

The cousin, a tall, reedy fellow with freckled skin the color of milk and red hair (Norrington had only seen eyebrows that red on Gillette), merely sniffed and said, "I'm sure. Tell me, Kitty, how often do you socialize with the middle class?"

Catherine raised both eyebrows and said, "I beg your pardon?"

"Well," Alistair continued, "Those who are in the military or trade of some sort are usually younger sons, if not simply unlanded citizens. How does the saying go again? Ah yes…'A friend before a neighbor, a neighbor before a stranger, a stranger before a dog, and a dog before a soldier.' You said your surname was Norrington?" Alistair continued before he had a chance to open his mouth. "You must be a second son then. I believe I know that name…your brother is Sir Oliver, yes? Only minor gentry…your grandfather on the other hand, is quite something, I must say. Indomitable force in the Lords. He and I get on quite well."

"I must say, I am quite surprised," Norrington said. He was just able to keep most of the gravel out of his voice. Just. "You and Grandfather do not seem to have similar personalities. I would have thought you preferred someone less…like him." He hated this man.

Catherine's cousin ignored this quip, or simply did not recognize it. "Your brother has a seat in the Commons, is that correct? And your father has passed on some years previously?" Alistair inquired with a cool gaze from watery grey eyes. He sipped daintily from his small glass of claret.

"Yes, both are true. My brother was the inheritor of the majority of his will, but I myself was the recipient of a tidy sum. Upon the death of my grandfather, I shall receive a title and an estate myself, and a seat in Parliament. I chose to continue my naval career however. I wish to obtain the rank of Admiral before I retire." Norrington desperately wanted to challenge the nasally toothpick to a duel with swords.

"Hmmm. You "chose" to remain in the Navy, you said? So you would be able to provide for a family should you decide to marry and remove yourself from the…working sphere?" Alistair wrinkled his nose in disdain, as if the word was a bad taste upon his tongue. He took another swill of claret to rinse it away.

"Yes indeed, Lord Witney. In fact, I would be able to retire immediately and support not only a wife, but an entire brood of children, plus servants and a large estate and never have to lift a finger again. I see you are very concerned with my affairs," Norrington pointed out, but it seemed nothing could embarrass this man.

"Oh indeed. Any potential suitor for my dear Kitty must be carefully examined. Nothing but the best for family," Alistair said. His voice was as reedy as the rest of him. Norrington wished he could stuff his mouth with his stocking.

"Alistair, you said you saw Mama and Papa before you left for Port Royal?" Catherine cut in with a brittle, bright smile.

He turned to his cousin and drawled, "Oh yes, I did indeed see George, Lord Cheltenham and Lady Isabella when they disembarked. Your ingrate of a brother, Richard, was already attached to the arm of a woman. Likely a doxy. I must admit, I was not surprised in the least when I heard you had chosen to stay behind. You must have felt you would not be getting any suitable offers in London, though with the Marquis and Marchioness back in Town for the season, I simply cannot understand why. They have their inordinately large brood of children with them, and each of their sons and daughters has a title. Your brother has already tried his hand with two of the girls, and was in process of causing a scandal the last I heard. However, they are each dowered with 50,000 pounds. Quite a sum to put on your daughters, I must say."

Catherine rolled her eyes when Alistair wasn't looking. "Now, Richard wouldn't do that. He is rather free, of course, but he knows how to comport himself in proper company."

Alistair fixed her with a look. "Need I remind you of the fountain incident? The whole ton were talking about it for a week afterward! I could hardly show my face to the Earl, your grandfather," he said with a nod towards Norrington, "after it happened, I was so embarrassed. Uncle George and Aunt Isabella really ought to keep a better eye on the doings of their wayward son."

"Well, if it was only for a week, obviously something else distracted them and the incident is now forgotten. Is that not so, Alistair?" Catherine asked. She was plainly furious, but trying not to show it.

Her cousin merely sniffed and drained the rest of his glass. Grace chose that moment to come in with a refreshed tea tray, but placed it down quickly and left the room. The tension in the air was palpable, and she had no wish to catch the attention of the sour-faced peer.

"So, Norrington. Do you play cards?" Alistair asked. He set his claret glass down and motioned for Catherine to pour him a dish of tea.

"I do, but I find I am usually busy with paperwork up at the fort, and then patrols," he answered stiffly. Norrington accepted the cup and saucer from Catherine and sat ramrod straight in his armchair.

"What do you say to a little game of whist then, or perhaps something a bit more daring? I deal at White's, my club back in London. It was founded by Catherine's great grandfather Francesco Bianco, or the Anglicized Francis White, back in 1693. You can make an excellent income dealing faro at White's you know," Alistair said as he sipped his tea. "The Marquess of Waterford frequents the place. He and I are quite friendly with each other in the Lords as well. I never see your grandfather the Earl there however. Do you know why that is?" Alistair asked Norrington, looking down his beaky protuberance of a nose.

Norrington clenched his fists surreptitiously so he wouldn't be tempted to bash the bony thing and said, "My grandfather is not a gambling man, Sir Alistair. He's more sporting than anything. I recall he kept a full stable and numerous hounds when I was a lad. He used to take my siblings and me riding when we visited."

"Yes, how is he liking Bedfordshire this time of year? I hear he's been entertaining quite a bit. Oh, but you might not be in much contact with him, due to your busy nature. Mustn't worry, we all get busy a bit." Alistair settled in his own armchair with lazy aplomb.

"Actually, I just received a letter from him. He wishes I could be home for Christmas, but realizes I am serving King and Country. He is possibly planning on coming to visit in the New Year. His son, Lord Huddersfield, will be upholding the family seat in Parliament should he do so. Apparently, he will be hosting the ball to end all balls for Christmas this year. What a pity you will be here instead, Witney. I am certain Oxfordshire will be missing you."

Alistair wrinkled his nose and downed the rest of his tea. "Kitty, pass me a cake, will you? That's a girl."

Catherine grumbled in her seat as she leaned across to serve him a small cake dusted with sugar on a china plate.

"Well, I think we've been sitting and talking long enough. What say you we leave the woman to her music and retire to a game of cards or chess? Er, you do play chess, don't you?" Alistair sniffed.

"I do play chess, Witney," Norrington said. After all, if Alistair could be so informal with his last name, then he could be too. "In fact, I am rather excellent at it, if I do say so myself."

"Very well, chess it is then. You know, if we were to play faro, I would likely come out the victor. I hardly ever lose," Alistair said.

"Well, when one is dealing it is rather hard not to. The house always wins after all," Norrington quipped.

Alistair looked over to his cousin while he set up the chess board and said, "Kitty dear, play us something. Use that sweet little voice of yours. Music would be good. Wouldn't want to waste one's talents, after all. Black or white, Norrington?"

"White," he answered shortly.

"Fancy yourself the White Knight, eh?" Alistair smirked.

"Not at all. I happen to play black very often and wish to change," Norrington stated.

"So, you said you were the recipient of a "tidy sum", if I am not much mistaken. You have it invested, I assume? The five percents would give a good return," Alistair said. Then he laughed and added, "Oh, but of course you already knew that."

"Yes, I do have it invested," Norrington said tightly. "However, I do not wish to get into the particulars of my accounts at this time. Perhaps we could attend to the game instead."

And so it continued. Norrington won the chess game, and the subsequent two. Alistair finally gave up and retired to his armchair, nursing a snifter of brandy in defeat. By the time he left, he had a splitting headache. Catherine followed him to the door under the pretense of seeing him out.

"I told you he was abominable," she murmured. "I fear I will not be able to see the children at all this week while he settles in. Please tell them from me that I will be there as soon as possible though. I am sorry you had to endure him for such a while. Thank you for keeping me company Commodore," she said.

"Of course. Do try not to murder him, Miss Tuttle," Norrington smirked. "I shall see you around the fort eventually I assume?"

"You assume correctly," Catherine smiled. "Now shoo. You're letting in the rain."

Norrington chuckled as he exited the house.

* * *

True to her word, Catherine did not show up at the fort for about a week after Norrington's visit. The children were rather down after he had announced her absence, but they quickly rebounded and dashed about the kitchens with endless amounts of energy until the head cook cornered them and sent them off to their play room.

About halfway through the week, he and several of his officers, Gillette and Groves included, were taking a dinghy to The Dauntless to ascertain the ship was sea-worthy. At first glance everything was fine when they boarded her, but Norrington had a strange feeling that wasn't going to last.

True to form, a sailor came hurrying up to the Commodore with a perplexed look on his face. "Sir, the rudder chain's been disabled. Oi was jis' on the ship las' noight and she were foine. I dunno 'ow this cood 'ave 'appened!" he exclaimed.

"What?" Norrington asked sharply. "Disabled, you said?"

"Yessir. But oi dunno 'ow." The sailor scratched his head in confusion and flicked off a louse from the end of his finger.

Norrington tried not to grimace. "Well," he sighed, "did you see anyone board her yesterday?"

"Jis' the new cabin boy, sir," the sailor responded.

Norrington's stomach sank into his shoes. "New cabin boy?" he asked softly.

"Aye, sir. Toiny li'le mite, 'e was. Dressed in dark clovin' and kept 'is cap pulled low over 'is brow. Di'n see much of 'im. Jis' dar'ed in 'n out of the shadows and vanished like a wisp of smoke once 'is dootees 'n all were done."

Norrington was practically snarling. "Fix it," he hissed. The sailor scuttled away with a touch of his brow in respect and vanished near the rear of the ship.

The furious Commodore stalked over to Gillette and Groves, who were both studying the disabled chain.

"Three guesses as to how it broke, and the first two don't count," he grumbled.

Gillette took one look at the black look on his superior's face and said, "Miss Tuttle."

"Yes, Lieutenant Groves. Miss Tuttle indeed," Norrington growled.

"I wonder if she comes up with it all beforehand, or if she just makes it up as she goes along," Groves wondered aloud in admiration.

Norrington shot him a look, and his subordinate officer quailed.


	9. Chapter 9

_**A.N.:**Okay, I know I've been on an updating streak, but I've been out of the house for the past couple days doing lots of fun stuff (okay, not so fun). In response, I'm uploading two at once! Yay! Another word of warning - I'm going back in a few days to my second semester of university, and as a History Major, it means I'm going to have no time. Whatsoever. I'm going to try to write on weekends, but after these chapters, expect it to seriously slow down again. Thank you for all the reviews, story favorites, and watches! I love you all! Mwah! xoxo_

* * *

Alistair was thankfully not present when Norrington came storming into the sitting room later that evening. Catherine was sitting calmly in an armchair by the fire embroidering a piece of muslin when he entered, and smiled as she looked up.

"Commodore! To what do I owe this visit? I am afraid you just missed Alistair. He took Sabbath out for a ride. Demanded to ride him, in fact. Poor Alistair." She tutted and shook her head.

"You. Disabled. The rudder chain," Norrington growled. He was breathing harshly through his nose. "You disabled the rudder chain!"

"Commodore, I had no idea we were supposed to be impersonating animals of the bovine nature!" she exclaimed. "Shall I low like a cow since you seem to be rather fond of the bull?"

Norrington's upper lip had curled back to reveal his sharp white teeth, and his fingers were forming claws. "How? How did you manage to do that? I demand to know!" He was just under shouting level.

Catherine smirked and lowered her embroidery, all pretenses gone. "Simple. I boarded your ship and disabled it. I should think you would know how that is generally done, considering you have been in the Navy since you were rather young, Commodore."

Norrington seemed to deflate as he sank into an opposite chair. "Why do you do this to me?" he sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Catherine smiled mischievously at him. "It is just so easy to get under your skin, Commodore. That is all. And, it gives me a chance to exercise my not inconsiderable mental faculties. Women so rarely get to do anything interesting. Not to mention, I can nearly get away with murder now that my parents are not here. No one would suspect me at all. The townsfolk all think I am some demure little creature with a head filled with fluff and air."

Norrington peered at her closely as she returned to her needlework, but didn't have time to comment. The front door of the house banged open and Alistair roared, "Where is my cousin?"

They could hear Thomas's faint tones, but couldn't make out what he was saying over the sound of stomping feet. Then the door to the sitting room was rebounding off of the wall as Alistair stalked in and growled, "You tricked me!"

Catherine looked up at him calmly. "I did no such thing, cousin."

"Yes, you did." His breath hissed out between his teeth like a snake. "You told me to take that Devil cursed beast, knowing full well what he's like!"

"To be fair, I did warn you. You asked for the best horse in my stables, and I said Sabbath was. However, I also told you he was a little testy, and to be careful when riding him. You shouldn't have let him have his head so much, Alistair," she reasoned. "He was bound to take advantage of it."

"A little testy? _A little testy?! _Madame, that horse is not a _little testy_. That thing is an abomination, and should be shot to put us out of our misery! Even the stable hands are afraid of him!"

Catherine rose up out of her chair now, a muscle jumping in her jaw. "Alistair Tuttle, don't you dare lay a finger on my horse, or so help me God, I will turn you out of this house!" she threatened in a throaty voice. Norrington would have preferred it if she had shouted. This voice made the hackles raise on the back of his neck.

Alistair seemed to back down a bit too, for he said, "Very well. But keep in mind I shall no longer heed your word when it comes to mounts. From now on I have the pick of your stables." With that he clicked his heels together, did an about face, and left the room entirely.

They heard him thunder up the stairs and disappear into his room. Then Catherine turned to Norrington and said, "I apologize, Commodore. He displayed an appalling lack of good breeding, and I am quite embarrassed. Shall I ring for tea?"

Norrington nodded. "Yes, please. I think I shall need it after this. Perhaps we should go and look at your horse afterward? Lord Witney seemed rather rattled."

"Oh please. He's just upset because he got thrown and it ruined the Chantilly lace on his frock coat. I told him not to wear it if he was going to go riding," she said as she went over to the bell pull and tugged.

When Grace entered, she dictated a tray for two be brought in, with some light finger sandwiches as well. After the maid left, Catherine went over to the sideboard and held up a decanter of brandy towards Norrington in a silent question.

"Just a small one then," he allowed.

She poured him a snifter and handed it to him, then served herself a sherry. "My father likes to keep his liquor well-stocked," she said in response to Norrington's raised brow. "We have some perfectly odious scotch whiskey if you would like something stronger," she offered.

"This is fine for now, thank you," he said as she sat back down.

Shortly after, the tea came in. They busied themselves with eating and drinking for a while. Occasionally Catherine would refill Norrington's snifter of brandy as well as his cup of tea, and the sandwiches disappeared rather quickly between the two of them.

"I have no wish to spoil your supper Commodore, otherwise I would have asked for a fuller tray," she apologized. "Er, Commodore?"

The man was clearly lost in thought. Catherine sighed and rested her head against the back of her chair. She decided she would wait a little while and see if he would respond later.

Once she had finished her third cup of tea, Catherine tried again. "Perhaps you would like to stay for supper Commodore, since it is so late in the evening already?"

No answer.

"Well, I suppose you will, since your stockings are now purple and the sky is raining chickens."

Nothing.

"And Governor Swann has had kittens. Elizabeth is very pleased."

Silence from his end.

Catherine raised a brow and tried harder. "And of course the King has decided to abdicate the throne and sail for the colonies in search of a more fulfilling life, and decided Alistair would make a suitable heir. Then, there was an influx of geese at Buckingham. Who would have ever imagined? And the donkey Marquis said to the lion Viscount that it was all going to turn to cheese in the end anyway, so they might as well start eating the palace now. You have not heard a single word I've said, have you?"

Norrington didn't even so much as blink.

Catherine huffed and crossed her arms. "Fine. We'll do it this way then." She sucked in a breath, and then jumped from her chair theatrically, pointing to the fireplace and shrieking, "Look! There's a boy in the water! Oh Commodore, do save him!"

Norrington leapt to his feet with a frantic expression on his face and began to shout orders when he realized he was still in Catherine's sitting room.

He turned a glare on her and said, "What was that for?"

"You weren't responding to a single thing I said, Commodore. I had to get your attention somehow. Honestly, it's like you were a million miles away. Where did you go in there, hmmm?" Catherine asked him. "Anyway, I was inquiring as to whether or not you would like to stay for supper considering it is already quite late in the evening, and Nancy seems to have taken a liking to you."

Norrington replied, "Only if it is not putting you or your cousin out. I am certain he has no wish to see my "lowly" presence at table tonight."

Catherine shrugged. "Does it really matter what he wishes? I am the head of this house until my father returns, and since I keep the keys, he abides by my rules. I say you may stay, therefore you shall. Alright?"

"Very well then. I assume everything is already done. My apologies for not being aware earlier. I was deep in thought," Norrington returned.

"Yes, I could see that," Catherine said wryly. "I really am sorry for the rudder chain, by the way. I had to do something, though. Alistair has been driving me mad all week long. I cannot believe how rude he was to you when you first met either, especially knowing your family is of the peerage! You should write your grandfather the Earl about him and get his Lordship's opinion of the man. I am certain the friendship is not so mutual, Commodore."

"Yes, I think that shall be the subject of my next letter. Might I ask, what on earth are you doing in the Caribbean if your father is a Viscount?" Norrington inquired. He was absolutely astounded anyone of the nobility would willingly go to this pirate haven rather than stay in fashionable, dreary old England.

"My father is very adventurous, for all he doesn't look it," Catherine answered. "He thought it rather lucrative, and wished to settle here for some time, while still attending to his duties back in the Lords occasionally. He was never one for mindless talk, though. That's what he says goes on in Parliament most of the time. Alistair only recently came into his title anyway. His father died less than a year ago, and apparently the newfound power has gone straight to his head. He's actually even worse than I remember him being, believe it or not."

"Ugh. I cannot imagine he was anything but this way," Norrington shuddered. "I must be honest. He is an odious man, and I cannot abide him."

"Neither can I," Catherine mumbled. "Come. Let us go into supper, and then if we eat quickly, we can go look in on Sabbath."

* * *

Once supper was over and done with, Norrington and Catherine went out to the stables to see how Sabbath was doing. As soon as they entered, a massive black head swung out over the stall door, and eyed them steadily as they walked down the aisle.

"Hello there, big boy," Catherine cooed softly. Sabbath whickered in recognition and tossed his head. "What did that idiot cousin of mine make you do? Did he hurt you at all? If he took a riding crop to your withers, I swear I'll flay him with it."

"That was possibly the nicest toned threat I have ever heard," Norrington chuckled. "And I must say, in my time in the Navy I have heard quite a few."

She smiled at him as she rubbed the giant horse's head and then said, "Hold my lantern. I am going to enter the stall and make sure he isn't lame."

"Very well, but be careful," Norrington warned. "I will not be responsible if you get kicked in the head."

"Oh la," she said airily, waving her hand. "Sabbath only kicks dunderheads like Alistair."

She came out of the stall several minutes later looking satisfied. "I will be able to know more when I can walk him, but I didn't feel any swelling or fractures in his legs. He should be fine. Now, let us go back in and pester Alistair, or if you wish, you can return home. I am certain you have much to do."

"Yes, actually," Norrington said ruefully. "I keep neglecting to respond to my grandfather as well. He will not be too happy if I do not give him a timely response."

"Alright. I shall bid you goodnight then, Commodore. Ride safely," Catherine said.

"Goodnight, madam. I shall call upon you later on in the week, if you do not do anything that necessitates me getting quite angry beforehand." Norrington bowed, and then was gone. Catherine walked back into the house, not stopping to watch him ride down the drive.

* * *

_Thanks for reading and sticking with this story! Don't forget to review! :)_


	10. Chapter 10

_**A.N.:**__Here's the other chapter! Please let me know what you think! Unfortunately, this will be the last chapter I'll be uploading for a little while. School is starting in a few days, and I'm going to be really busy with that until May. Hopefully I can write during the weekends, but I'm taking two 300 level History classes this semester, as well as Philosophy and two German classes, so my brain will be fried, guaranteed. Thank you all so much for your love, kind words, and support! You're all amazing! Read and review! Xoxo_

* * *

Catherine looked up and stopped dead in her tracks. She was face to face with an irate Alistair, and he was waggling his soiled lavender frock coat with the torn Chantilly lace in front of her nose.

"Do you see this?" he demanded. "This was several hundred pounds and a week's worth of work! Absolutely ruined! That blasted horse of yours threw me and shredded my lace!"

Catherine wrinkled her nose in distate and pushed the offending garment away with a finger. "Alistair. Please, remove this from my person. I have no wish to deal with you right now."

He snorted. "Oh. But you will entertain your commoner love interest at all hours, eh? Just like you Tuttles, you always leave the core of the family and go gallivanting off around the globe!"

Catherine was furious by now. "Alistair," she hissed. "Do not forget, you are just as much a Tuttle as the rest of us. Without my great grandfather, you wouldn't even have a club to gamble your inheritance away at! You are under my roof, and I will not hear such venomous things said against my family. Go to a seamstress and get it repaired, and do not waste my time with it again." With that, she pushed past him and stalked up the stairs.

Grace passed by at that moment, and Alistair thrust the coat at her with a mumbled, "Fix this," and followed his cousin to retire in his own chambers.

Grace glanced down at the article of clothing, then at the retreating back of the peer in shock. Apparently she would be taking a trip to the seamstress sooner than she thought.

* * *

Catherine was up and out of the house early the next day. She wasn't certain she could handle being around her cousin without doing something she would regret later. While she was dressing, she had Grace give Thomas a letter to have sent to Elizabeth, announcing her attention to spend as much of the day there as possible.

"The house will not be open to callers today, Grace," Catherine said as she picked up her fan and reticule. "However, if the Commodore should visit, have him redirected to the Governor's mansion. Elizabeth won't mind the extra company, I am certain."

Grace bobbed a curtsey. "Yes, ma'am. What should I tell Lord Witney?"

Catherine wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. "Tell him I am simply out calling today. His small mind should be able to comprehend that much."

"Very well, ma'am," the maid responded.

Catherine breezed from the room, the scent of her lavender perfume wafting behind her.

* * *

The carriage ride was uneventful, save for the jolts and rattles that set her teeth on edge. By the time she finally alighted it was just after nine, but Elizabeth was already running out of the door to greet her.

"Catherine! How delightful! I was so excited when I got your letter. I am so sorry your cousin continues to treat you in such an odious manner, but we shall have such fun together today! I have told the butler to say I am not receiving and callers today, so we shall have the entire house to ourselves. It will be just like when we were children again. We shall have tea and cakes and little finger sandwiches all day, and we shan't care a whit about acting like proper young women!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

Catherine laughed and hugged her friend. "Yes, just like when we were children, except I never knew you growing up. Come, let us go inside rather than stand about. We can talk more there." She linked her arm with Elizabeth's and the two of them walked amiably back into the grand mansion.

Once inside the sitting room, Elizabeth set about ordering them tea and finger foods. After that was finished, she reclined on her side of the sofa and gave Catherine a Look. "So. Tell me everything. What exactly is going on between you and the Commodore?"

Catherine laughed and rolled her eyes. "Absolutely nothing, Elizabeth. We're just friends. I promise. Why are you so interested?"

"Because," the governor's daughter said with a twinkle in her eye, "the two of you are nearly inseparable. You are always calling on each other, and you seem so happy in each other's presence."

Catherine sighed and fixed her friend with a glare. "For the last time, there is nothing between us. We are merely friends with each other, and he calls on me as much as he calls on you. I do wish you would simply drop the subject."

Elizabeth groaned. "You are ridiculous. You can never let me have a bit of fun. So, what shall we gossip about first? I-what are you pulling out? No, no, no! Put that back! You are not allowed to embroider while you are here! What is that anyway?" Elizabeth peered over her friend's arm and tried to see what she was doing.

"It is something for Emma. She lost her handkerchief, so I thought I would make her a new one," Catherine answered. "She loves butterflies, so I am putting them all the way around the border. What do you think?" She held out the crisp white fabric for her friend to examine.

"Your work is far better than any I could hope to achieve. I think she'll love it, my dear Catherine." Elizabeth handed it back to her to finish. "What I do not understand, however, is why you have many more of these in your work basket. Exactly who are you sewing for, the Navy?"

"No," Catherine said with a roll of her eyes. "I am making each child two handkerchiefs of their own, since they tend to go through them rather quickly. I might have to sew them to the insides of their sleeves just to make sure they won't drop them somewhere."

"Well, I am certain they will appreciate your gift," Elizabeth said. They halted their conversation while the tea tray was brought in, and then resumed once the servants left.

"Tea?" Elizabeth asked. Catherine nodded. "And how will you be taking it today?"

"One sugar, no cream. I feel in desperate need of something rather stronger than what I normally drink," Catherine said by way of explanation.

Elizabeth dutifully poured out the beverage, then handed it back to the dark haired peer.

"So. I would ask you how it is having Alistair in your house, but considering your irate letter and the fact that you are sitting here right now rather than your breakfast room, I believe I can piece everything together for myself," she said.

"You guess rightly," Catherine sighed. "How is Will doing?"

"Much better. He had the burn lanced, and then a poultice applied to help bring down the infection and swelling. It is going to leave a rather ugly looking scar, but at least he is finally getting something done about it. He only did so because it was putting him behind on work." Elizabeth rolled her eyes and knocked back her tea like it was something far stronger.

"Will he be visiting anytime soon?" Catherine asked.

Elizabeth shrugged. "It depends on what he wishes to do, to be honest. Now that we are betrothed, he has enjoyed a higher social standing in the town, but it also means that more and more people are coming to him for work. I spoke with him about the shop earlier on in the week, and he says he does not wish to give it up once we're married. He does not enjoy a life of leisure – it makes him fidgety, he said."

Catherine sipped at her tea and sighed. "Well, I must admit I am not surprised to hear that. He never struck me as someone who would gladly retire from the working sphere to a life of…well, what we 'enjoy'."

They shared commiserating looks, and settled into silence as they sipped at tea and ate.

* * *

Norrington stopped over later in the afternoon, having been redirected from Catherine's house. He entered the sitting room and found himself in a bedlam. Catherine and Elizabeth were laughing loud enough to give him a headache, and it appeared they were impersonating a certain eternally inebriated pirate Norrington had no wish to ever encounter again.

"Elizabeth, m'dear! Look 'oos joined us!" Catherine exclaimed as she noticed Norrington. The officer was standing in the doorway with a look of disgust on his face.

" 'Ello, luv!" Elizabeth said as she sauntered over and looped her arm through his. "Come over and sit wiv us." Without waiting for his answer, she dragged him back to the sofa and practically pushed him into his seat between her and Catherine.

"What shall we do wiv the good Commodore today, Elizabeth?" Catherine said.

"I think we should keep 'im 'ere at our mercy, savvy?" the socialite returned.

"I think the two of you should return to normal now," Norrington interjected. "You are grating on already frayed nerves."

Catherine chuckled low in her throat. "The good Commodore says 'is nerves are frayed, eh? Methinks 'e should try livin' wiv that whelp Alistair for a while. Then 'ee'll know the meaning of the term frayed nerves."

Norrington glanced over and caught the furious glint in her eye and held off a retort. He sighed instead. "The children miss you," he told Catherine.

Contrary to the sparkling retort he thought she would come up with, she deflated a bit and said in her normal voice, "I miss them too. I feel very guilty for leaving them like this on such short notice, but Alistair demands all of my time and attention, and when he doesn't get that, he whines and rages like a child having a temper tantrum."

"Would you like for me to arrange having them brought to you?" Norrington asked her.

The change was astounding. Catherine brightened up immediately, and seemed to glow with happiness. "Oh yes Commodore, thank you! That would be lovely! It would do the children a world of good to get out and breathe the country air. And it would certainly give Alistair quite a turn as well!" She was definitely looking forward to this.


End file.
